you carry guilt
like a stray bullet on your neck
& with every memory of that day,
pain replaces the colour of the
element that finds a track
beneath your skin.
you become all that’s left of a seashore,
making that weight into stones that
never seem to succumb
to the raw power of raging waves.
what’s a man, if not a boy, persevering?
dear child, what hope can you give a hen
who knows the end of its journey
lies in the delicious pot of a hungry man?
what stories can you spin to
rid its mind of the day when its eye
will watch its caretaker glint into
murderer, and above him, the heavens;
then blood?
there’s only so much you can tell
a dry ground and river
about not finding food
in each of the children pregnant clouds beget.
i know whenever the radio sings,
all you hear is a dirge.
your head becomes elastic till you taste
blood on every note.
grief has made you
into a book of metaphors.
but soon,
i hope you’ll come to understand that
some boys aren’t born to be taught
to crawl before they master the art of walking.
and that’s why the man they become
don’t stare at their soles before they run.
because when you cook a mirror
and decide to taste all of its reflections,
it may leave you melting, and
what was once a sealed vessel
would shed the tears
of breaking.
Taiwo Hassan
is a Nigerian student, poet and writer. His works have appeared in Best New African Poets Anthology, The African Writers, Mbari Magazine, Praxis Magazine and Liminal Transit Review to mention a few. When he’s not writing, he’s either singing, listening to music or watching TV series.