My watch speaks.
Each hour is a long, dreary year. I am leaning to trace the pain of imperfect glasses.
I am shutting my eyes in painful memories to recall the bullets that tore at our dreams.
Opened deep wells to our Promises.
Boro, Theo, other Political Fathers are watching them drown at dawn. .
The elections are over.
When is it okay to go out the streets?
And not see restless blackened souls pulling at your bags.
Stinking with late night smokes and draining boozes.
“Your bags, give us your phone!”
The walls of my stomach are rebellious, fighting the starving hours of yesterday and the miserable pieces of two days.
There’s the noisy butterflies that remind me of affection.
Pain and ice.
“Where is Ada now?”
Her crumpled figure against the wall resurrects, breaking me.
“I have to leave the country, Ada and I will come back for you”
Her eyes were hollow with sadness “You will not”
I have stopped saying my prayers since then.
Mother stirs from sleep, and breathes her prayers on my head.
“Peace, Peace. Favour”.
Are these blessings or girls? I wander off.
I am dragging my box, with Gabriel trailing behind in tears.
I want to make him promises of money and my definite return.
But I am truly gone.
And even Mother knows this.

Join the discussion