Body soaked in hopes,
I wore a uniform of silk.

Can this skin pack my all?

If greying is a blessing in disguise,
do I have to fall into a pool of confusion
only to be plucked by words?
Does hanging even mean breathing at all?

I heard mum had an accident,
I went to her shop only to be housed in her warm chest;
      not this horror filled with fresh wounds,
and yes, I got a punch in the heart,
and a storm, too,
                              it tore my boat apart.

My desire walks on water,

what if I sink –
                        will my mum’s pain float?
Or, will the coldness I pressed on the body
of water soothe those pains?
And sand with his patience,
                                    Will it plead to kiss what remains of her?

But thank God she won’t die,
Doctor assures us.

Like other broken boys gush salty tears,
I want to bleed pure salts from the sockets of my eyes.

Here I am,
                  a trauma-filled boy
waiting the arrival of his wounded pet
with hands clutching crispy snacks…will you have a bite?

Babawale Al-Ameen is a seventeen-year-old Nigerian poet. His work has shown in an anthology The First That Is Dreamed Of, curated by Ernest O. Ògúnyẹmí. He’s in love with Jennifer Perrine’s work. You can reach him on Twitter: @DoctorBee19.

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