The Poetry Marathon

I lay on grandma’s cowries that almost looked like a bed

But it’s actually Mama in form of roses and lilies

What do we call an abyss with life in it

The beed on my wrist signifies the swerling time I had run on

And the hurricane that it made on my body

A Reply to blessing Omeiza Ojo’s technology palaver

I have waited for too long

I am now fed up of this beautiful disaster

Of this lifeless companion that doesn’t know how to breath

Summons a one month subscription for a better experience of loneliness

People don’t see how it races with them in time and win

I see how technophiles creates new life in our body so quickly

I am wearing grief as it rips my body apart

Genius gone clueless

Everybody is so judgemental about the new lifeless companion

Follow by our eyes that can’t resist the light

Father pull me close

I see the end is near

Mama was another calico used in waving old souls goodbyes

Smiles they said grow palm trees in places of rest

Tears were nother known fertilizer for mourning joy and misdeed too

Grandma shenanigans about the rivers was written as a tittle on our little palms

Placed on papa’s old shelves

The abnormality in the winds cause tides to turn our memories into rocks use to throw I into the ocean