This is what I’ll consider the best poem this week. I love the play between metaphor and sarcasm in the poem. The subject is somewhat personal, something common these days, beautifully crafted into this art. – Sophiyya EmBee
By Kolade Kabir Olawale (Àdèlé)
Cramps live on our shoulders as evidences
that the second name of this land is struggle.
Struggle to breath, our heart is soaked in aches
that worries overflow till our cheeks become waterway
Struggle to survive,
let your mother mark herself “safe”,
a pinch of salt still taste sweet even if doesn’t bring her happiness.
she ate once a day, she wouldn’t die today, tomorrow
she’s still hungry, she’s surviving.
Mark your nose safe, it only smelled gunpowder,
walls on the street
have tasted pains in the hand of local bullets, explosive
with their body looking sad like graffiti mourning an artist’s wife
death from a civil war.
everyone is safe, we still find moments we open our teeth to laugh
cause we escaped losing our breathe to the grave that folds into
parcels of darkness; dark holes, mourning moments,
dark night in a uniformed silence that escapes through windows of home
where boys picked the strength to die before their fathers
while their mothers watch them,
a sad cinema.