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(This is a poem with restless souls in quest of new meaning. A picture that every part of the world isn't
pretty enough and even the grave is unsafe


i stand on laru,
a green Stanchion.
i question the turn of the aggressive wind
that has been washing the treasure in all closed areas .
my people, I've seen scattered stars like the chameleon feces, I've been somewhere
if I look up, my eyes are laced with deceptions
If I look down, my feet are either burrowing into Kofi's grave or the exterior decor around.
if I turn here, the sun burns me
if I turn there, the moon sets a septic ulcer in my stalactite heart.
see__ I'm on world extreme corner
where darkness intimidates all halos,
where hearts are broken and eaten by termites,
where drums have been silenced and the fibers of souls are gone.
where people gather are broken dreams and seized breath .& each time my eyes sleep, I see graves with
frowning daisies.
i see dead leaves in dusty dry harmattan,
i see puffs of pale blue smoke,
i see kwesi with frothy neck and broken face
she said "why has the world treated us thus?"
Even the grave is not an abode for restless souls.



Lagos, 2021



(A poem with the meaning of death & what sought our absence when the soul melts)


After the soul was gone,
men danced to the song of bronze.

they rose in slow climbing like the god of thunder lightning.
they wore bitter emotions and they could not hide the glittering foundation beneath their curves…
they came with regeneration carnival sometimes called "funeral"
they gave rise to pots and lives to spoon
& buried morsels with vintage wine
they said what will be we be,
for we're human of age, and its shadow shall cover us to the end.



Lagos, 2021


( For the love of man when it's right at night )


Words drift in multitudes from my luminous heart, at each succeeding step you take.
your eyes flick the sunlight off my toes
as you rise among willow fragrance.
all these, i began writing in the sky, blue, simple and soft. "Man" I have opened the mountain gates to
my heart so you can stream the orifice of it & sway the dance of your lips over my continents. I have
hurried home to paint my cavity in red and vintage blue, so you can sleep with sweet shadow & bless
my system with glittering marble .
I have come to indulge in the morning of your river. I've sent a letter to God. That love is the madness
of the Stream. let him forgive my sins.i come to lie alone with you alone, the identity of water lilies
i weave
i swear
i bless the day you delivered me from sins
I am a preacher of love under your well-tuned guitar ______ give me your tender rhythms to heaven.



Lagos, 2021

Amina Akinola is a poet/writer. She is a student of Lagos State College of Health Technology where she studies community health. Her poems are up or forthcoming on The Shallow Tales Review, Kalaharireviews, Ngiga Reviews, myWoven Poetry, Shamsrumi, and others. Her poem was shortlisted for the Arise Africa writers contest 2020 anthology and she writes from Lagos, Nigeria.

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