Photo By Mide Benedict
you, now like a lonely lampshade,
shine an orange light in an empty room
asking life how you’ve become so.
how you now despise a voice you used to
leave everything in the world to attend to.
a voice that was already echoing in your
own lung, oozing out through your
oesophagus. throat. tongue. lips (mouth)
this voice sounded to you like the
voice of the world when it falls from the
phone’s mouth into your left ear, & you
felt the music & tonality shouldn’t stop
a voice you regarded as voice of voices
the voice is now the peel of melon seed –
a taboo that shouldn’t be seen in the morn,
and now you got your face phone-lit
by incoming calls from the voice
but you never activated the green button
for the voice to come to life again,
for this voice was cut (caught) red-handed
and the world became a flood of blood.
and now, you wade through the water of
memory like a toad escaping a fisherman’s
hook, and you realized that in life (today’s
world) not all holidays are holy days.
you had thought this voice will be a music
to welcome you when you’ve gone out
at daybreak into the fog to pluck figs
for your romantic weekend’s breakfasts.
you sighed a sealed breath like a signed
deed then you remember it’s been a while
that you hear from your father –
a voice at its eld yet never grow old,
filled with litanies soaked in rhymes and
rhythms that carry brightness into the
sunshine as he wagged his old tongue in prayers
a voice that has never betrayed you.
you remember the last time you spoke
sitting on his bedside, how his joyful glance
pierced your skin until your body
became a clay carrying carved letters,
letters that blaze so deep that they
became messages of fire across the sky.
you carried these thoughts out of your
breastbone into the very back of your mind,
except that your father’s voice kept echoing
in voluptuous astonishment in your head
and you told your new friend the tales of
sixty meteors that fell in past hour:
“friend! let’s go pay homage to the night
and, in the morrow, meet at sunup.”
Ayeyemi Taofeek fondly called Aswagaawy is a lawyer and author of “Oro n Bo: Dripping Words” (a poetry collection). He is the First Runner-up of the BPPC September 2017 and February 2018; Winner, PoeticWednesday Anniversary Contest, 2018; First Runner-up Okigbo Poetry Prize (University of Ibadan, 2016); 4 times winner, PIN Monthly Poetry Challenge; Top10 Page Poets of the Year (EGC 2018) among other coveted prizes and awards. He has been published in Under The Basho, Tuck Magazine, Authorpedia, The Quills, The Pengician, Inspired Magazine, Peregrine Reads et al. If he is not in the court arguing, in the firm drafting, in the bedchamber poeticizing or meditating as a Sufi, he’ll then be somewhere in the world talking about things that matter.