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I Think My Memory Is Becoming Fugitive | Eniola Abdulroqeeb

{In memory of Chadwick Boseman}


This rivulet and rivulet of salty drops flowing down

       my cheeks, blotting the calligraphy of the memories

of the nights we sat on greenery at the heart of town

      under a lone moon, arms entwined like string of jewelleries—


of the days we strolled through parks and meadows

       singing the late blues in unison like a pack of robots

and my heart was always at peace like the afterglows

      and all I saw in your dark irises glowing like sunspots


were songbirds chirruping of many days we shall spend

       in the belly of earth. Our little child now embattles me

every day with plaintive queries of you, which transcend

      the region of my brains, rendering me completely at sea.


How do I tell him that your soul has been wrung out

       by the callused hands of Death? That your flesh

is now the wind behind the clouds, rubbed off in a bout

       with Cancer. My sanity is leaving the zone of fresh.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

About the author:

Abdulroqeeb is a writer whose flair for writing has deftly crafted short stories, poems, essays and think pieces.
Facebook: Opeyemi Abdulroqeeb Arowolo
Twitter: @ArowoloRokeeb
Published inPoetry&Musings

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