Epitaphs are front pages of the real story
What hurts you the most?
The love you had but never expressed,
like a closed bestseller not opened until burnt
– A bird never out of its nest.
Or the nostalgia of sweet moments you’ve had,
like tales of moonlight robbed by age
Banished into marriage, a way no compass constructed
Fried to nothing by time, season and weather.
Waking up every morning to see the unseen with you
– You are now alone…the warmth that makes you warm
cold beyond ice-
Or the pain from the scar, knowing fully well
a chapter has come to an end untimely.
A chapter without words
What chokes you the most?
The words left unsaid or the acts buried
within the act of your apostolic temples.
Unspoken, trapped in the throat…deprived.
You had your voice, yet silence was your outburst.
Marriage was never the answer..no, not ever.
I was the angel you made me.
What’s left of a broken pot abandoned by the potter.
To be inherited by another short-lived owner.
What KILLS the most?
The joy in the protruded belly plucked in morn by the present
A joy that didn’t quench the thirst
What blinds the seer more than his own errors?
A lantern blind to its feet.
Broken beyond repair
Loved yet not loved, seen but out of sights.
Slashed beyond the miracles of stitches
What kills our joy the most is within?
those outside are torches to bleeding gasoline.
I wish you felt the warmth buried in the ice
Maybe that was the oxygen you needed on the bed
that inhaled your breathe
Losing myself to find me again
If all lost coins would be found again on the other side
Why am I afraid I can’t replace you?
Mystery of mother
Boys don’t cry, boys have eyes that don’t shed tears.
Ojo Emmanuel is a law student and writer from EKITI state. His works have featured/upcoming on African Review and other literary platforms. He writes to tell the untold stories of humanity