for Aisha Omolola (a 300-level ABU student who committed suicide and blamed parents in note)

Someone dug a trench here and left the
ravine to be filled with collected flood

When I write of depression, I put my name
In reverse order and watch the candle burn its middle
with abandon.

I swear, the hole in my heart is wide enough for another
sea crossing. The Poets of my generation write
about grief 

And we sit on the bank of Jordan waiting for the
stick of Moses to close the ocean behind us

This is what we found. A tiny light lead  into a small room
Where a girl paints her face red to conceal the colour
Of her rage 

The note she wrote had her letters pointing to a tree excavating
clay for the grave of  its own fruit.

In another room, We found a body bloating with the 
outward gale of a Styrofoam floating in soap acid


I know where this open, I only don't know where
This hollowness lead to

Each voice that talk about your death is an empty room  needing a touch of light

And In our silence, We listened to the wail of your mother like an arm stretched into the sea    as she last heard 
your name in the mouth of a shark.


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