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
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.