Bullets Poem by Adeniran Joseph

BULLETS


They are times we eat ourselves raw & lick
The emptiness in our bloody bodies afterlife,
When we don't have spaces to become hope,
As we draw the readiness in our hands to sun,
For our days to run into the eyes of infatuated,
If we can't mend our lives broken to memories.

Teach me how to deep myself  into wavefront,
To become murky waters awaiting temptations
Even if my teeth can't sort out dirt in my pocket
Then how do I recite to my mother's daily bread
 After giving worth of my morn flesh in pieces
And molding the ashes left in my brothers' homes.

I thought they said humans are like living birds,
Flying to seperate conditions inform of drought
Which springs sprinkles mien to a disgusted pit,
But I saw not the right thing, just the otherside that appears in four shapes of a block.

I learnt the meaning of sound from a boy of 10,
He said sounds are echoes of our thoughts,
When our voices becomes bewildered beings,
I never fathom the meaning of those words,
Untill the day a boy in benin held water's legs,
And drag the body into another body in his mouth,
Now I know how boys are made from dusknes
For they knows how to die even if death breaks
From the flipping flaming scars on their bodies.

Do we still have boys & girls falling from trees
At the closed hours of erratically darkness?
Where we juxtapose night&day from a burden,
Like we were words at the end of a seabeach.

If you can not make yourself out of nothing,
Find yourself another body in a burnt city,
Where death is at the lips of a singing bird,
For our bodies are made of crackles fragility.

My Father said girls are voices of temptations,
When they journey to the smokes in their eyes,
And becomes palmate sermon of a dead street,
Singing in milky mice songs like aged mad men,
Like we were shallowness able bodies born to be burnt.

Have you not heard how dawn folded its arms
Against the eyes of men who walk into fire
And got consumed with the flames of it?  
An empty Silence is another name for dawn,
For we have jury to bury our destiny beneath its body,
Like we were taught how to hold our shadows behind our tears.

Who would teach a bullet how to break bones
Even after running through bodies of homes,
Who slumps to fall at the end feet of a dying trigger?
Are we to say life doesn't ends as it should begins?  
But I know, someday, sometime, just a blink of an eye drop will do the talking while the body will floats to the otherside of a condemned window.