Image by JasonParis via Flickr.

Inspired by Romeo Oriogun.

*

One day we’ll sit in a lightless bar

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and look into each other.

Revolution is a song hungry folks

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don’t sing. We’ll chant fire and cry ice.

Maybe you feel happy

that a legion of pigeons are flying off

your chest,

towards a greener land that breeds peppers.

_

Our souls are fires that have forgotten

how to burn, and everywhere my heart enters,

my head runs out, screaming logic.

I can’t wait to tell our sons that life is a beautiful agony, and they are

not allowed to cry

when the moon turns grey,

because the woman pounding yam inside of it has a weary waist.

_

One day, I’ll tell my daughter that love is a clove of onions that

brings flavor,

but could make her trip over tears.

I sit.

Broken emblems mix with the

air, stuff my nose. Torn flags,

bombs, swirling in my mind.

Secretly I know, that nobody cares.

_

The whiskey is good. The weather is cold.

We should have sex. Perhaps I’ll learn the patterns

your body has broken into.

Perhaps I’ll set fuel on myself and find you.

Perhaps I’ll help you find a home within.

 

 

About the Author:

Emmanuel Esomnofu. Facebook bio reads: Anti.