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Not Your Poem

How did the road become so narrow
to hold your body?
How did the war engulf
your pores?
and the world survive your mouth of smoke.

They have built you a frail cell
to immerse your being.
A room that makes your body
a crossed chamber impossible
to exhaust.

You are afloat in this poem.
Alcove in the night,
gutted and allied with the wind.
This poem is not for you.





So you want to write?

So you want to write?
Write like your writer friends;
who receive praise for their adoration
of nature, love and war.

How about the etymology
of your suffering? on your conception,
of what your father is,
and how your mother’s body is scared
with internecine lines. The absence
of your brother’s laughter
because he was born too early into a man.
Your fear for your sister’s growth; in your land
& when her body begins to gain more flesh.
About the attention your hair draws
when you are scarf – less. Your urge
to yank the pretense needed for survival.
The letters you write to God,
but never send to heaven.

About your home being a state of mind;
a memory you carry around,
but never a place.




Ode to My Body

Praise to my body,
& its semblance to home.

You take my skin;
fold it into a devotion.

You need an altar,
my eyes are here for you.

Praise to my belly;
You crave its blessing.

My tongue peels into a cloud
that holds your faith.

Praise to my hands,
They shimmer into hopeful pockets.

You offer my thigh praise,
whilst swinging in its fullness;
a high and mighty fullness.

My flesh as David’s psalms.
Marked with golden melody.





Oluwafisayo Akinfolami is a student of history and international studies at the university of Ilorin. She sometimes write to express her mind on things that are attention consuming. She loves reading and writing. She writes from Abuja, Kwara and whatever place she finds herself.

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