I write from the University of Ilorin. My work has appeared in Fiery Scribe, Praxis Magazine and elsewhere. I’m a final year student of History and International Studies and is greatly fascinated by the intricacies of the world and its elements.
My soul is shredded to atomic pieces.
There is a reality to grief
It finds you in between air,
Suspends you into a flummox
And you're left to a mirage of yourself
An empty carcass. Grief has robbed you.
Where is your soul now? Where is your susceptibility to pain? Where is the impulse that seemed to dominate your essence before?– Where is the thing? That thing that is found in your smile; your face; your speech; your walk; your mind; your name; your, you? Where have you lost it? Did you lose it?
Grief has touched you, burgled you of your father.
Taken him to orun alakeji, aremabo.
Grief has stolen a quarter of your dreams.
And only your mother, siblings, and you get to share now.
I remember leaving you at the docks, grief.
But you had to come back–didn’t you?
Looked me in the eye and collected your due.
Still, I refuse...
I refuse to occupy the same body as you.
Find another body.
This one is filled.
Glossary
- Orun Alakeji: Heaven
- Aremabo: Where people go and do not come back.
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