I rear my grief like a fisherman

i am rearing my own grief 
like a fisherman sailing in his 
trawler. i peregrinate beyond
the exigency of the Neptune—
incarcerate by a hope of lassoing 
something big—fish. until i plunge 
into the vast of ocean. so all I hope 
is hallucination. i am beguile again 
by my thought. i goad my father to
to death—douse him into water till 
he drown. he wants me save but he 
is not saved. after all, i am pronounce 
my father dead. this my body veers to
domicile—a abode of grief. i once 
reminisce about a gold my father left
for me—a tale about a fisherman rearing 
a fish he caught from the sea in his pond 
till the fish produced thousand of fish. 
now my body, too, is a pond where i rear 
a grief till my body become a cicatrix 
after sea steal my father's soul

 
to love is to create a memory

there is a dagger in my brain—a portrait
of mààmí, shaped into a grief like an idol

called òrìsà. 

there must be something powerful in love. 

they say, a decrease with a child does not 
sleep, but this feeling keeps me awake; love 
for an unseen & grieving over palpable thing. 

to love is to create a memory— a lifetime 
one. or, how can i reverse time? & end the
pains that entwine my heart? did you not 
see, when grief dissected my chest, & make 

my heart its abode? 

i, too, try not to be grieved like a boy:
a boy whose soul is heavier than his body. 
a boy whose soul becomes a wanderer, 
when merriment gushed through his heart, 

but found no place to live.

a boy whose a grief cut him open,
& indulge a machete at the nest of his chest.
a boy whose pains flow in his veins.

i, too, try to raise, again, like a phoenix 
from the ash. but, anytime i try to tame 
the grief, i realized, “grief is a beast that 
will never be tamed.”

i realized, i love mààmí. & i realized, 
i have created a memory—a lifetime one.