Portraits Of Me As Bisi

By Olabisi Akinwale 3 months ago

Portraits of me as Bisi


say a roomful of tamed voices

these voices are not mine

they are of boys on the streets of Kaduna

survival turned a replica of the wind

& of walls with bullets stocked in their throats.

say a garden of roses:

some are withered, 

some plucked, 

some not winking at the sun, 

or a tourist attraction to butterflies, 

but one, still colourful.

call the withered & plucked roses my gone lovers

the colourful rose,  my lover

& others, the fleeting symphony of love.

say a photo album of dead faces

these faces are of people

who once lived in my body

but left in a whisper

leaving memories dressed in brown.

say a long lonely road

with a car parked on its backbone, 

comforted with trees & noon birds.

this road is life & its adventures, 

i am the car parked on their tongue(s), 

call the trees & noon birds figures of hope

sneaking on me whenever the feet 

of my mind grows weary from moving on.

say a night house

emptied of photographs, 

but a candle light on its cranium.

my mother is the candle light, 

call her the tiny speck of light

left in my dark & lonely moments, 

because the dead are fluorescents bulbs

in the hearts of the living, 

they never go away

their lights never fade.

say the tales embedded in the eyes 

of a malnourished boy

somewhere on the street of lagos, 

he knows death by her maiden name, 

he admires her beauty, 

but his dreams are night howlers;

they keep him awake

& every day he lives unfolds his godship

& gods do not die.






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