dreams and emptiness…

there are no poems in an empty room
bereft of what is loved, devoid
of what is lost— but there are dreams…
& dreams are
& everything that is unspoken with
an unfamiliar tongue—
leaving us in the same darkness
I was when I slept, dreaming of you
in many shades of forlorn
to count the hurt I woke with each time
is to borrow more fingers after my toes
many a time have you left this room empty
because you were everything my walls
wanted to listen to when you hum & breathe
to my touches, perhaps
you can tell me what your absence
could do for these enclosures of my heart—
my chestbone empty of meanings
to find for my paused heartbeat
I am a torn drum, beaten to stupor
by the violence your music of departure
sold to my soul, after my soul has been sold
to your demons, yes,
I was hellbent to follow you through hell
because I saw heaven ahead of you
on the same path I met you
but what has happened to your broken wings again
after I mended it?
your silence is food to my poetry
but after loving what I write of you,
is it enough when you are not there anymore
to love, whom this poetry lives after?

About the Author

Tukur writes from a coastal axis in Lagos Island, Western Nigeria. His poems are inspired by existence, memories, creation, lust, love and identity. His poems have been published in Lunaris Review, Libretto Magazine, The Quills, Echelon Review, Art Of Peace Anthology, Z Publishing (Best Emerging Poets 2019) and elsewhere. He won the Brigitte Piorson Monthly Poetry Contest (March 2018) and shortlisted in many others, including the Collins Elesiro Poetry Prize (June 2019).

We're legion

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