{In memory of Chadwick Boseman}
This rivulet and rivulet of salty drops flowing down
my cheeks, blotting the calligraphy of the memories
of the nights we sat on greenery at the heart of town
under a lone moon, arms entwined like string of jewelleries—
of the days we strolled through parks and meadows
singing the late blues in unison like a pack of robots
and my heart was always at peace like the afterglows
and all I saw in your dark irises glowing like sunspots
were songbirds chirruping of many days we shall spend
in the belly of earth. Our little child now embattles me
every day with plaintive queries of you, which transcend
the region of my brains, rendering me completely at sea.
How do I tell him that your soul has been wrung out
by the callused hands of Death? That your flesh
is now the wind behind the clouds, rubbed off in a bout
with Cancer. My sanity is leaving the zone of fresh.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
About the author:
Facebook: Opeyemi Abdulroqeeb Arowolo
Twitter: @ArowoloRokeeb
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