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Gbenga A 58m
It starts a slow and silent seed.
A pasture soft, the scarless skin.
Standing in the heaps, the ridges, full of Life.
Stretching it's greens, it's yellows, Oh! the supple sky.

Petal after petal, Leaf after leaf.
Song after song, Dream after dream.
The land loses it's greens, the trees lose their tweets,
and whiteness comes, frozen, her skin.

Suddenly all is replaced, all is buried,
all is white, and all is heavy,
The heart is breathless, cold and weary.
The crackling fire does little to mend this.

But slowly, definitely, it all starts to melt,
At the first rays of the new season, this White is shed
In new birth of seeds, in new birth of dreams,
After snowflakes, the heart is healed.
Gbenga A 11h
so we were by the gate
under a sky of stars
I stretched my hands and she held them
and they were warm
as warm as the red berries I plucked last summer
and she smiled
laughing, she jumped
from foot to foot, swinging her head
like a lovely little puppy biting a shoe.
"I love you" she said
and I looked at her
lifting the hair that fell over her eyes
I replied
"I'm very Thirsty".
Gbenga A 16h
nothing makes your head swell more than this statement
"my brother, keep the change"
just like that, you are married to 11 wives
6 of them kneeling with pounded yam and spice
the remaining 5 singing lullabies as 18 cry
with you sitting on a chair, made of bones of elephant thighs.

you feel like if you stood, up on the highest peak
you would see the entire world, high lands and the farthest seas
and when your mouth opens, words coming out to speak
like the grains of sand, the people would pour out to listen.

So here I am, my head, as big as a microwave
walking to my hostel.
for now I feel like a king
but by the end of the month, I'm sure
I would wish I didn't speak.
Gbenga A 16h
the weight of the tie
around my neck
and the quivers of my jaw
from what I've said.
a flock sits with downturned heads
and the wolves stand, with mocking hands.

as easily as the pencil glides
over the ****** page,
so also it is for the written to blossom
like forget-me-nots in the slanting rain.

Today,
the heavens wrote me
on the wrong end
where the ground is filled with spit
and the sky, grey with the angst
of mourning heads.

Tomorrow,
the writing would not be the same
and I would be
at the right end.
Gbenga A 17h
the sun is as hot as spaghetti
steaming with a sauce
served with a side of sizzling hot cherries.

my tie is so tight I cough in silent h's
and I'm sweating
my pores shooting out like a fountain
and my face, like an umbrella in the rain.

no time to think
no time to reason
"Ding, Ding DIING!"
I jump like I was slapped on the cheek
my beard itches, my right eye twitches
"What the F* is this?"
I write out the first words that come to me
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
but I'm not done writing
I look at the bell,  "you f*king ****"
and I jump again, like there was a puddle before me
my head is as hot as popcorn
no, even hotter
and you can hear it pop
from the front and from the back
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
i jump again
it's me vs. a bell.
wrote this to encapsulate my anatomy steeplechase exams
visitors & a Bench.
a yellow butterfly
sat with me today
on that bench
facing the trees.

not one flower in sight
but the chirping of birds
as the leaves whispered
secrets into the air.

and this butterfly sat
caught in sunlight
its wings, a soft and silent fan
opening
and closing.

I came here
with a book and pen
to think and unravel
to weave and to write.
to find petals within petals
and bloodshed
within songs.
to find raindrops within apples
and breaths
within breaths.

nothing
came to me
in my silence
only
a butterfly.


(Thanks for Reading ✨)

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