Let me tell you of those pages of poetry the gremlins set on my back,
Those pages everyone looks at but never sees,
The words that have no shape or form and have no letters to develop,
The words inculcated in these pages I set deep within.
Let me tell you of the long verses and stanzas that I could never finish,
For there were no words;
And no letters to form the inexistent words.
Did I never tell you of the day Mama Abike struck Jimi down,
Like when the sky sheds storms to us at the demise of another,
Jimi's frail body shivered under her steel arm,
Dancing the steps of death, from this world to the great beyond.
But of course, I could never have told you ;
My lips refuse to retell the story and my face refuses to be moist again.
Oh! Those pages of poetry, my heart bleeds for you,
Literally -
Did I never tell you of how my body and Ahmed's body had glided against each other?
Deep in the woods where the moon was our only blanket,
When fibs of luxuries had spilled from his lips like water from the waterfall we use to see from Mama Abike's house,
And how those luxuries disappeared when I conceived, and with them, went Ahmed.
I could not have told you ;
My head forgot how to reason and I could not finish those pages of poetry.
Did I never tell you of how the pills Jimi had bought for me,
Scavenged in my belly and killed my unborn child,
And stepped out with blood smeared at every inch like victory scars after a battle.
Oh! With what vigor would I tell the story!
Of how tears seemed to last forever on Jimi's face as I clung for dear life,
Unbeknownst his dance of death was just weeks away.
I could not have told you ;
I never finish those pages of poetry.
So all that remain are half written dark lines of sadness and tears,
Scribbled on pages that have no margins,
Do you now see the weight the gremlins had mounted on my back?
Could you please let some load off so my feet can also practice the dance of death?
Or are you going to sit there reading a poem that does not utter the life you live?
Scold me and detest me!
For I have forsaken myself,
But please, cheer me on, for a while, and then some,
So at least, I may finish those pages of poetry.
©Maymunah Kadiri
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