I’ve left the pain, it’s the sorrow that calls my name.
I’ve left mourning, it’s the ones I left behind that keep me from moving.
So I write.
Perhaps they can hear me from the other side of this sheet.
Maybe, just maybe they’ll let me move ahead in peace.
Pen to Paper,
I hope they receive this letter.
I hope they let me live my dream.
Cos I’ve been drowning in false waters.
The only thing they let me see.
Pen to Paper,
If I told them I no longer breathe, would they know I’m not lying?
If I told them deep inside me, I’m shattered and I’m dying,
Would they believe and let me live again?
Pen ontop Paper,
You know say this na for my village people.
Tell them make them embrace peace, comot hand from evil.
But them go hear, abi them go continue?
Tell them say for this life, chop one, one go still chop you too.
Pen ontop Paper
Na city I come hustle make I make am pass my Papa
Im dey village dey wait, dey chop breadi na opupa
I wan give am good life, comot shame for im body
But my village people no want make I make my own money.
Pen to Paper
I’m done now
Tell the rest of my story with your rumpled body.
Tell them I tore you from the back of my hand me down Bible,
Because there was no real paper to scribble on.
Tell them this ink was drawn from my veins.
Tell them to please untie my pictures and give me back my name.
Brown Boy Dreaming|| Medical Student|| Volunteer|| SDGs Activator|| Egalitarian|| Rainbow Child|| iWrite Poetry and Short Stories