there is no perfect wall. we all bear stretch marks. in places
we yearn to cover the sky.
every wall is a playground for the ruptured reptiles.
i am a wall of everything good. of sweetness.
a barrier. between here -blues & there -gritty reds.
this wall is named by little gulfs. formed by efforts to see
into the eyes of god.
& like your wall. and his. and everyone’s. over my crack
is a host of lizards. pressing press ups. nodding nods.
their muteness is a label of babel. you need no aid to know.
i borrow them a grain of word.
that. the heat of the sun does not radiate into the shadows of crack.
the earth.mo.sphere is not only about crust moulded into walls.
it is also. of skin needing fire to house a soul.
activities with rushing blood. for their types requires a baptism in the sun.
not the mints bred in clefts.
i am not afraid of creepy things. for they
are sojourners of a city where feet tread. lickers of dust.
my friend. do not make yourself a lizard. pressing up. over g(l)ory
with stifled voice and hurting belly.
i ask. how is a lizard blessed from heaven?
does not a wall make it more closer to its creator?
& if with its clutching claws the wall is dug. the crack larger. & the wall abased.
does it not fall below an ankle near redemption?
but still. if my crash is caused of lizards. i am not afraid.
there are boys with waist bags
holding stones. stones that wait
for leap into the mouths of catapults.
catapult. a sweet way to call a bed where death comes slowly. in peace.
Mosobalaje M. Abimbola is a graduate of Industrial Chemistry. He is a lover of art literature, and is actively engaged in writing of several genres of literature such as poetry, prose, plays, reviews and translations. He lives and writes from Akure, Ondo State, Nigeria.