Adedayo Agarau
Water is the essence
or is it life that begins the sentence
of a moving man?
we flow into places,
our legs are small streams.
healing comes with a picture,
But when you are blind, it comes in lyrics.
the last time I tried to neglect water,
I was found floating in a dead room.
the noise there was of markets,
of confused men writing home their stories,
of tired tongues flapping endlessly in lost winds,
of gifted hands tying some other bodies to gallows
where they make them barbecue for religious
or sexual preferences —a cadaver for others to dissect.
sometimes, I want to write a poem, so dry
like the vagina of my grandmother,
but the randiness of this corrupt city
teaches me to bath again,
every time, before a poem,
i go to the river for baptism.
—for god so loved the world
that he carved us in a cubicle of water
that we may become whole again
and walk away,
but I am still trying to make my eyes retire,
my grandmother is dead again,
and tonight, the thieves shot her.
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept
Editor’s note: Originally published as part of the 31 Days of Poetry series on VicAdex.com on 30 September 2016.
Editor’s note: Originally published as part of the 31 Days of Poetry series on VicAdex.com on 30 September 2016.