By Olaitan Humble 5 months ago



Every strong heart was once cuddled by 

drops of clear, salty liquid 

called tears. 

Lingering, then linking to 

every hern of the face, 

like the flow of River Niger and Benue.

A feeling of compassion 

caused by the misfortune of others

rips us off our innocence

like a reality-filtered delusion

under a false impression. 

Written upon my bloody heart

is a kingdom come, where I walk with a freight

that's beyond my light. 

I ascend into the ether 

of the netherworld, come what may. 


— Olaitan Humble

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Olaitan Humble
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