Haikus on Idealism

o yẹ ki a dupe                         

o yẹ ki a dupe

o yẹ ki a dupe

o yẹ ki a dupe

ara son                                     

ategun fẹ                                 

iji jà ko gbé wa lọ                    

o yẹ ki a dupe

 

Your chatter is cluttering this landscape

I cannot see for this baptism of fire

And the sun that falls out of her safety in your mouth.

 

Place your palm over these lips,

That I can hold onto the mother that spill from this careless.

 

The relics that dance foreign between my teeth

Are forgetting who you are

 

ema fi mi sile                                  

mi o fẹ sọyin nu                    

 

Find me in folds and agbada         

Swimming between the space left by the teeth my father

Lost to cigarette butts

And his quickclench fists

                                                      And the first time I found myself and

The beautiful in

reimagining our world

as a place of hope

 

I am learning to love these scars as the braille

Which help them hear me in this dark

 

Lori oke meji, we wear our trauma like trinkets 

And caves are our homes

But a cave is no home

 

Look what you have done, it is all on the floor

This mother tongue and English cannot rhyme

It will snatch the shape from these stanzas

Like all the anthologies I found my mother in

 

Se o ti ri ọmọ-ale ri?                                        

My talkback spits back the sweat of my mother’s labour

And the fingers she peeks through as she cannot bear to

                                                      watch me swallow this sun whole with

The bravery in

knowing this world is our own

and all change is me

 

Some days I drool my homeland

Down the spines of my textbooks

And borrow for just a second

 

I remember the growl in your throat ma

 

The ends of softening dodo                               

Shrunk in my hands

Or did I grow around the whistling sound

 

The gate guarding utopia is now high enough to climb

And the space between you and your daughter on her 25th birthday

Can be traversed

 

Where is the safety in home?

My wrists are itching,

I am forgetting the words to the songs you wrapped me in

Iro yin where I find sleep    

 

Adura yin niferan mi                                         

I am unearthing the prayer you gifted me

 

The word you have buried in me is rabid and strength

It barks to warn them,

 

                                                There is fight in the ticks in this wrist – searching for

 

The power I found

In believing resistance

Cannot be in vein

 

I am not here to dwell,

We have work to do.

Us three, orange rings glowing lazily in the dark.

 

 

 

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