Read Time:1 Minute, 14 Second
for Abiodun
A child marvels at the ripples of the water
As if the key to unravel her miseries caused the disturbance.
This is another day in a new life which rolls out
An entirely of the past in a slow motion, so
The girl can handpick the least of her tragedies:
A memory of a home she can no longer find in the atlas;
A thought of a Mother who worshipped goodness until
The religion morphed into needles manicuring her feet;
A nostalgia for a Father whose name she bears but
Whose face only surfaces when she looks in the mirror.
Say, the child can't map the horizon of her anguish;
Say, she is the history of a future doubtful in the present.
Or, what hope do the hopeless have besides the deletion
Of the 'less' suffix, to see themselves in a future that
They might not be part of? (Like a dying mother seeing a
Golden crown on the infant scooped from her womb.)
This child marvels at the ripples of the water
As if the key to unravel her mysteries caused the disturbance.
But what she sees is goodness — an old religion she'll revive;
A seed with potential that only grows on pure hearts.
Rosheed Ayinla Shehu (RAS) writes from Nigeria. He is a finalist in English and Literary Studies at the University of Ilorin. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Kalahari Review, Muse Journal, Inkspire Magazine, The Fiery Scribe Review, Afrihill Press, The Scribes, World Voice Magazine, and elsewhere.
