Notes From A Fed Up Dolphin

& someday you became a fly fighting for survivor
in the middle of a cup full of tea;
you can’t breath nor refuse to.

a drowning soul holds onto anything for rescue/
you craved for a blade the barber used
to get you a new look.

you removed your shoes and wore a digger
to dig out a new way of leaving earth without dying;

your plans didn’t hold ground
because water was the only thing underneath

we forged/ into lifeguards
& take fucking good care of you;
the way a once-barren woman treats her first child.

take us/ as your own; be our damn keepers.

A Voicemail To The Wind
(for Makissiafin)

we could have saved you
from entering into that dark room,

but death doesn’t come like rain.
i understood the full interpretation of
love/ your neighbor/ as you/ love yourself,
only when our four eyes hugged.

your memory still possesses:
the child’s laughter and rainbow smile
that once lived on your face;

your heart was an ocean
cleansing everything that runs into it
and your arms always spread out/
zillion times more than the sky
to unfamiliar faces, when life paraded your veins.

we could have stopped you
from becoming a wind, from crawling into
a room full of sleep and peace
that nobody dreams of staying a split second in

but death indeed doesn’t come like rain.

About the Author

Abuoya Eruot writes from Paynesville, Liberia. He’s a budding poet and a worshipper of music, who gathers muse from personal experiences, happenings in society, and nature. His works have been published in African Writer, Praxis Magazine, Eboquills, Odd Magazine, etc.

Ngiga
editor@ngigareview.com
We're legion

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