By Olalekan Daniel Kehinde
Tonight, nightingales harvest bullets like dead melodies
plucked from requiems running in cleft mouths.
The moon drinks a cupful of souls & belches ruined beams
on festering bodies. There is a cloak in the shape of darkness
rechristening us at the altar of our own blood, resting our bones
on earth's fur — the dark's a reaver, river of ribcages.
The dawn pukes dews to purge the earth of its sins
& the grasses quickly soak their defiled skins with juvenile
crimsons spilled in brackets of bullet hiccups putting asunder
between the flesh of a child & his bones. The father is no
where to be found near his child's remains.
If your faith be as small as a mustard seed, you'll
say to a mountain, "be thou removed,"
& it shall be so. A grenade's faith hatches like an egg in the
palm of the earth & it moves us into the mouths of graves.
Another dusk will visit like a thing ready to kill us all
but there will no longer be nightingales to sing aubade to
our parting souls. The moon will witness fra g me nt s
deboning at the golgotha etching dank solitudes. Aerial
butterflies, fireflies will roast our bodies until flames gag
life out of our mouths.
Olalekan Daniel Kehinde (he/him), NGP XII, is an Afro-being, essayist, and poet. Daniel is an award-winning writer. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in PIN anthologies, BPPC anthologies, The Peace Exhibit Journal, African Writers Magazine, Inkspired anthology, Woven Poetry, The Shallow Tales Review, IbadanArt, Upwrite Magazine, Poetry Column NND, Agbowó, miniskirt magazine and lots more. He studies English and Literature Education as an undergraduate at the University of Benin, Benin City, Nigeria.