A HEART ON A BUTCHERMAN’S TABLE
everyday, is a rose i sewn in my palm & on the rosary on my neck, i made to
lit up darkness with the light in me/my heart/my soul/my palms & my garden yard in
phoenix of chronicles & pain & vanity_ my sarcasm.
there were times i was murdered by the death of my dream_ drums and bang on
every leather that elucidate the noise of my nothingness.
i sewn poems in my heart, a burlesque but my finger hymns in the lines of dirge.
my ink wuther on the wings of weirdo, tales of synchronisms_ a tale heard on the tail of my garden’s roses/ mud/bougainvilleas in their patina reds and pinks.
BEAUTEOUS IS BEING BLACK & BLUE
there were days that wore shackles of forsakennes, when all we dreamt of are sips
from the mug of burnt skins & pain, that petters into blurs of images in our faces.
there were days of wrinckled sweats in epochs of darknesses in our necks & palms,
when we only writ on metaphors of servitude – a tale of two parallel lines
which my maths teacher bears on his face- lines of pains & freedom which eludes in
our faces in a phoenix underneath our skins.
& there are rhymes on lines in our verses & poems which we chanted with waters in our mouths
just before mungo park found the niger bay.
& we are dipped in brittles of darkness & bloods on our hopes that mellows in the ancestral
Tajudeen Muadh Akanbi, lightening pen X is a budding poet from Nigeria, a 17 year old boy, his works appeared or forthcoming on magazines like eboquills, afrihill press, spill words and elsewhere.