Sing it Aloud

Not that facebook messenger failed me.
I was just too scared to be reminded the sting
of failing is a nightmare in the world of an orphan.
My culture says it’s a taboo to heap weighty messages
in the mouth of a servant, to say their importance.

Your messenger says life keeps breaking you
as if testing your tensile strength.
At first, it was a beast demolishing your garage.
Then, a storm breezed in, tearing apart
into shreds the name you built for decades.
I wanted to hear you speak these things to me –
these things seeking for asylum in your body.

I remember my sentence to perpetual joy
after I murdered my demons and drank their blood.
What’s a messenger that I cannot choke with my fingers?
I thrust my thumb. There were screeches.
My voice finds its way in, asking you to sing songs
of healing aloud with me, and to conceive joyful songs.

An eaglet learns to fly alone in the midst of a tempest:
my mother died without teaching me a song.
So, you understand why I love to invite strangers
to sing aloud rather than to serve them amala and ewedu.

And most times, I lead. Heck! My voice is seraphic.
Do not be lost; the world is too large to sojourn.
Sing aloud, first, your woes. Repeat. Repeat.
Then sing of hope, blessings and amen. Louder.

*amala & and ewedu: Yoruba (Nigeria) traditional meal