right now, i know walls are crashing into me. & there is little
i can do to stop
a crying child from saying the language only his mother understands
& karma from being the other name of a god
but the little things i care about now,
is my soul not dying like the taste of water in the rain.
i know this might not make sense to you
but each time a photograph is taken,
another memory is burnt – we die to live for other
& we die while trying to live like others.
other times life become real, is
when hope skips your face and land your destiny a slap;
when two cities breathe from the belch of a dying boy
& a girl is fading away along with her mother’s age.
this poem is a tribute to memory
to times our strength was a bystander
watching on as our tears fail to wipe our failures.
to moments we streamline our selves into nouns and verbs – now
who we are is now, what we will BE is then.
to memoirs of events we share and long to share
this poem is a toast to life.
the one we lived and spent each day writing our tribute
the one we couldn’t see while we were learning to carve our
names into the space of time.
some boys died before they were named. they knew identity is not needed
for a child with no home. they found peace in broken pieces.
others lived so they could not die. but held their hearts close
to fire before going to hell. they became a shard of their future broken
into footprints that fail to connect each other.
it is a toast to death
to life unfulfilled
to mistakes unrealized
this is to mystery…!
Biography: Olamilekan Philip is the voice stretching beyond his present and illuminating his future.
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