Toorera

 

Toorera,

I do not know how I want

history to remember us –

as carvings in its back or 

as streaks in its sands. I am

stuck in these deliriums –

coursing heartbeats with you,

gripping my tender imaginations 

In fizzles of cloudy assurances. 

I do not know what your signs

mean. Certainty dips its tendrils 

into the tender creation of you 

my being creates – crushing all

we build together in realms

where we meet to dismeet; 

leaving me out of breath.

My failing heartbeat crawls

slowly into shadows – of pains, 

of hopelessness. 

I do think I have been just with

myself. I do not know if I have been at

fault – teaching myself how to 

love fiercely in my imaginations,

yet clothing myself in shards of pain 

when indeed you seem to appear to 

be within the cycle of reach. 

I do not want to stop loving you. I do not want

the heaviness of my affections burden 

your spirits. I do not want to breach your

clouds of expectations. I still do not want 

us to remain creations of my blotted images. 

I think I cloud my being in wraps of regrets

and expectations, for I do not want my love to 

fail you. 

Let the fire go down, baby. Let your love continue 

to prickle me into conscience. Let me go drunk in

this abyss of fallen images, hoping that like

erection, they rise again. Let me continue to course

in mementos of unspoken words. 

Let my words remain in chests of bloating realities.

Let my being reside in certainties of unspoken

desires, for your rejection may drive me mad,

probably, again. 

I do not know if these desires link in paths

of mutual disrealities, but you can still

Pe mi ni baby ko de feel at home, for this 

body is a safe harbor of broken anchors. 

___

Adedimeji Quayyim Abdul-Hafeez is a mad creative on the loose, interested in laws, media and communications, journalism and anything that knowledge could be found in. He views the world as a conglomerate of crumbling realities and is enamored in how poetry embody the hope of our collective humanity.