The bees & butterflies & flies & birds
sought shelters. from hair to toe, the grace
of rain blessed me as I gather the fragments
of my demolished heart I notice its knock or
perhaps it's already raining. The moon came out
beautifully today that barts marvel at it, I wasn't aware.
My cousins sent me their eid outfit, awaiting my verdict
but I am at the egress of cognizant. A friend of mine
shield me from a bullet aimed at my pouch where I
carry butterflies that are native to my bloom but, I'm close
to the ground before re-wearing consciousness into my face
like perfume or is it too late to reclaim a body from sinking
to a depth of friendship where I learnt to bury secrets
in the opened mouth of a rancorous microphone?
The ones we keep close like petals of apricots flowers;
call us names meant to tether, call us losers, _but we
are not losers just agriculturists of a kismet
that grows in its own flawless of blooming.
My mother's words wear solace like pink lips
my eyes, a witness glorifying the scene. she says in Yorùbá;
“má ṣe yọ ará rẹ lẹnu ìdùnnú nbẹ lẹ́yìn ìpọ́njú”
In English “Worry not, relief follows hardship”
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