i wrote this poem while listening to Akon’s Sorry blame it on me and on seeing a notification from my phone about war and deaths

By | 1 November 2019

it’s afternoon// hot // hot like an imagined hell/
i roll under a table/ and there i make up countless dreams―/
birds unrolling from my corner/ full stop//there’s blood alert on my phone’s
screen/ there’s blood sinking into the ground somewhere/ they say
there’s a war/ a burning place/ Borno/ and a small boy/ i read from the alert/
carries a gun heavier than his body/ and a small girl/ i read from the alert/
carries crushed berries around her thighs/― mistakes/ mistakes
that amount to too many holes/ and the sky turns into masked clouds//
i think of how we use our hands/ and unfurl fire/ and smokes/
and nobody/ i mean/ nobody says a thing/ just retweets for traffic/ and
i wonder what the number of retweets/ can resolve/ while death avalanche/
while people are bathed in dusts/ and their houses are shelled down/
―this is not what prayers can undo/ this is not what running can solve/
does God blames us/ though we are made in his image?/
how our cruelty begets his cruelty?//
the rivers wail with the disturbed night:/ voices from brothers and sisters/
who should have been here/ sharing bread/ and wine/ on a round table/

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