by Boluwatife Afolabi

 

To love is to die every night

hoping to wake up in a dream

where love is a language,

ecstasy; a song

where prayers flow into rivers

and children wake at dawn to

fetch blessings into a gourd.

 

To love is to break

your body into a sea

hoping to find a soul

trusting enough to drown inside you.

 

To love is to run from emptiness

(the memory of home:

Mother, singing songs of loneliness

into the mirror

Father, pouring his anger

into wine)

into fire.

 

To love is to grow,

the fusion of bodies in the darkness

waiting for a sunrise-

god shining his light

on the miracle we made

in the night.

To love is to seek,

to become a traveller

or a sceptic

or a gipsy

knowing we might not find

the fire we seek

but continue to nurse the embers

we found on the road

hoping that someday, they grow into a sun.

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Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

Boluwatife Afolabi is a Nigerian Poet. His poems have been published or awaiting publishing on Kalahari Review, Expound Magazine, Praxis Magazine, Saraba Magazine, Africanwriter amongst others.

He writes from Ibadan. He tweets via @oluafolabi.