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Victor Alaje Poem
I cradle and rock him,
He's so fragile a thing in my arms,
So perfect, so innocent,
So unlike his mother.
His mother was broken and wicked,
A being rotten from within,
But I had loved her still.
It was foolish, I know,
But is that not what love entails,
Accepting someone for who they are?
She likened herself to a grey petaled rose once,
Sere and dying.
He'd likened her to a little candle,
Hidden beneath a bushel.
She called her life a colorless canvassed painting,
With him only as red.
When she saw only lifeless skies and muted chaos,
And her sanity danced away;
To some silent unheard rock music,
He fastened to her hand and danced with her,
Till the music turned gentle,
And it's tempo slow.
I had known she wouldn't stay for me,
Believing otherwise would be naive.
I had thought she would stay for him;
Our little boy,
Thought she could lock away those parts of herself,
That part of her mind that played terrible scenes;
Of still bloody rivers,
And terrific demons,
And scattered husks of men;
All in haunting recaps,
That compelled her to recreate such destruction.
She did not think she was worthy,
To look upon a thing so perfect and innocent,
And call her own.
She was broken and wicked,
And she was rotten from within,
But she knew in her black shriveled beating-box,
That he would take care of him,
Like he had done for her,
As her healer and her friend,
Though he was not his own.
So she'll close her eyes for just a little while,
For she believed all will be well,
And she hoped to go where there was silence,
Flawless emptiness.
It would be beautiful to her if death were like that.
She'll love them both still,
In that world of total blankness,
And isn't that what love is about,
Letting someone go when you know you're not right for them?
Copyright © Victor Alaje | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Victor Alaje Poem
"Why you sitting out here Dele?",
She squeaked.
"You gonna be those tiny bitters' food!",
She exclaimed.
If there ever was more to Ollie,
It'd be more squeaks and exclaims.
I sits on the stairs out on the porch.
She makes to draw myself up,
I stay stubborn still.
Even in ninety, I still got flesh;
Not only sack of bones, so I still heavy.
She sighs loud,
And takes a space beside me,
Then she turns to look at what in my sight,
Over the wall- the Sunset Condo.
It been in my view for sometimes now.
"What find your interest there?".
She chuckles, honey-sweet.
"You find a lucky new wife?"
My lips stay together.
I see her scratch her arm,
One of them bitters already got her.
They don't come for me,
I already dried up and wasted,
I already old.
"No one wants to be themselves anylong." I mutter.
"When they looking in the mirror, they desires to be others."
I turn to look at Ollie,
Looking youngish like she don't age a bit.
Tears roll down her sweet cheeks,
The front door opens,
"Come on Grandpa, let's go inside."
I hear a girl say.
"Ollie?"
Ollie's still beside me,
She's still cries.
"Why you cries Ollie?"
"Not again Grandpa!"
The girl voice exclaims,
"Not again with the Ollie!"
I don't mind the girl's voice,
She's stays background,
Only Ollie here.
Don't cry Ollie, I want to say,
But strong hands lift me up,
"Dele? Dele?"
This voice is male and deep.
"Ollie's crying." I say
I looks up to the man.
"Ollie looks sad."
I say, and point to Ollie who still looking away.
"Let's just go back inside Dele, and we'll talk about it."
I looks in his round big eyes and see Ollie a bit.
I turn around;
Ollie's gone,
"Your ma's not here, is she?".
Copyright © Victor Alaje | Year Posted 2018
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