By Emmanuel Obadara
and paint over them / with the brightest colours / known to man / but the pain will always be there — r.h. Sin
fading into the ether like sea foam
the wind weaves a thread
of light from the rowing sap. cut sharp
like an unwinding of a prayer. folded
in the tiny edge of two graced swords.
little dark canvases sitting on glorious hedges.
plum root shot into the insides of
a cold ark. the golden shovel
unpacking grief recoils in unprecedented
motion: mountain with burning rocks
& a broken shoulder—
what boulder should not roll?
deboned men letting hearts as thin as walls
be broken by women who know not how
the construction began. jaw bereft of all
praise quivers like the spear in the hand
of a hunter. miracles cracking open
like clouds in joyous downpour. who bleeds this
swollen duct, still? the cavernous hallway
littered with birds & chords
of no bespoken sound. the train a stylus for
engraving the goodbye
a lover should be told. smoke offering the
ballin’ boy a shred of itself.
here, i am better off with my spineless tongue.
Emmanuel Obadara is a writer from Oyo state. He is on Twitter @OEmmaflex