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You swam solely in these droplets from the skies of your eyes,
trolling through the frozen chins, forming a burnt Kansas.
So generous to serve you a breakfast, perhaps a morning tea,
in stances you glance through the loops of reminiscences,
ideating how mother became the ashes from the butt of a cigarette,
gulped in the hungry air,
like how a hot tea runs in its speed to find a rest in the tommy.
You remembered how gruesome it is to survive without a taste of
a nipple; the feeling of belongingness.
You felt deserted, and crowned your emotions a siren of pains,
ringing aloud, every now and then, as it strikes hard with its
memories– stripped naked before your soul;
of everything blue, reeling into everything dark.
perhaps, it’s a reason why you’re dark,
a continuous bath in these waters that showers gory.
You set your blinking eyes before the wall
to count the number of strokes used to paint
mom in imagination,
sinking you in a pool to generate names to these broken strokes,
how cruel it is to teach you how to home pains in silence,
a stance where your soul is being caged to a belief of “men do not cry”,
but your sunken eyes rained to flung pebbles on your heart,
crafted to find a rest in a beauty’s eye balls,
in a wheeling state, setting musical bruises on your skin,
in broken rhythms & every day comes with its fire,
burning you into thoughts of hatred,
how you keep hating your soul for watching mama wrapped
beneath the seething soil; a home of tattered hopes,
for no one hopes to carve hopes therein.
A boy as a pilgrim is a city in dismay;
devouring metaphorical requiem in wilderness.
His feet is etched in the wind,
sprouting hydrants with his prints as extinguishers.
His name is an escaped flame; throaty,
running before his shadow
& travelling into the future.
He follows to see the spot of the silvery wave;
a home of waters eroding griefs.
Death as it must to a soul,
he gods his wishes into horses
& his fate into a peacock of thousand eyes.
The time and fears he burnt in the furious winds,
must tell a story as it must remember–
One to welcome him home!
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Ismail Akinlade Yussuf, known as Ayuss; a stage and a page name. He is a freelance writer, poet, spoken word artist, essayist, activist, actor and a graphic designer. He is an award winning poet, one of which is the global article contest themed: Skin Color Complexities. He has got his poems featured in different anthologies, among is the global peace anthology. Of which online blogs too aren’t exempted.
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