Skip to main content

It Is Well—Arikewusola Abdul-Awal



It Is Well—Arikewusola Abdul-Awal

At night, when the earth dresses in the cassock of darkness// I supine on the thatched mat, spying the rain beaten rafters// I lay my head on the interlocked fingers, cerebrating on ‘what next?’

 Memories of the past trickle down my veins// Dragging me to the dreary days of failures, of rejections & of mistakes// Those memories wage wars on my tender heart// Boom! My heart is bombed & I become a lethargic soul in front of fate.

 I ogle the secluded angle in my room// I envisage my present; Sitting with its raised knees–arms are folded round them// Like a bony-ribbed beggar, begging for a better bundle in his bowl. 

The other angle displays a blurred foreshadowing of my life’s drama. I crane// But my future is a strand of black hair in the gathering of grays// I blink, blink, blink and blink until my gravid eyes give birth to brines.

My heart is an overpowered empire// Future of hopes, in fear and dangers// & I am a tethered butterfly in the frail trap of life’s cobwebs.

Upwards I fix my gaze// Looking for the divine intervention// Maybe He would rub His soothing balm–that will fret this horrendous fate away–on me.

& I prick up my ears, hoping his whispers will wipe away my tragical past, pathetic present & foggy future// with the lulling power in his three words of “It is well.”

Bio:

Arikewusola Abdul Awal is a 19 years old poet from Shaki, Oyo state. He is an aspiring writer, who touches the heart with an irresistible power of words. He has his works published on different platforms like ilamagazine.net, global poet and poetry, williwashpress.com. His poems were also featured in A drop of love anthology, Broken chunks of hearts, and others. He really relishes reading about life philosophies.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

brother's head/father's sacrifice— Chukwuma Eke Pacella Chioma

  brother's head/father's sacrifice —   Chukwuma Eke Pacella   now home has become a city  of lost bones and falling waters. i wonder what  god  thought  when (s)he placed souls on the metals of hunger;  i mean spinning out the humanity in them  listen, i know brother's body is hidden  somewhere in father's heart  perhaps father had traded his blood for noodles  when his cv turned into rotten papers  perhaps he had been loyal to the call of his stomach,  became an abraham  and led brother into the woods of sacrifice;  isaac died after all.  now mother still looks at my neighbor as though  he has the smell of demonic altars  she says her son lays in a corner of that boy eyes  but i suppose she is too much of a weakling  to search father's own eyes and heart. now pastor jay performs exorcism on my innocent tongue because i told mother;  that night brother slept outside forever, i ...

Arrow Of Poached Porcupine—Abubakar Auwal

Arrow Of Poached Porcupine—Abubakar Auwal Smiles before the stream of earth— blood coloring the grasses. Sounds of ceremonial drums;  Race of stray bullets.  A child is dazzled and his mother has learnt to fly; Men over here wear spears between their teeth. Take a look into the eyes of the town.  There are clouds wearing the face of gods, Holding swords and false promises. "Oh,where else does a boy learn to scream?"  The cries of a missing mother  Who lost her seed  In a barren farm, speak! Since yesteryears till date- the red blood flows beyond the eyes Cracking with tears Till it becomes dregs.  In restlessness we swim, Out of the home for dome, To escape from  The direction of stray bullets.  No skin is left unscarred , Fathers and potential mothers,   brothers and sisters  Worship in the death field.  They prick our daughters Into early mothers They "inactive" our brothers and sisters; And we found them asleep in the d...

Blood and gold —Testimony Odey

  Blood and Gold —Testimony Odey I birth the voices of women Carved in the calabashes of gold Whose content was drained by The throat of men hungry for Something their eyes couldn’t grasp Thirsty for  liquid  that would sting their throat Red and black, these men wore A sign that even blood couldn’t shake  A single bone in the ir  body A sign that wherever they walked in Darkness and gloom painted the atmosphere I birth the voices of women who had  No strength to speak up for themselves Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.  The tides of the deep blue sea They follow the rhythm of these tides Even their heads bop to this rhythm  In the middle of the night When no one’s by their side And they are left all alone to cry I birth the voices of women  Whose voice were  too  weak To alert passers-by of the danger That had befallen them I birth the voices of women Whose blood is tinged with gold. Bio:  Testimony Odey is a Nigerian teen writer, poet,...