Bouquets of Cadaverous Roses

By Arikewusola Abdul Awal

Every day, war claims so much from 
Humanity that our memory is growing into
Bouquets of cadaverous roses.

Behind my window panes, a boy and a girl
Mould a sand house with a single room
And play couple’s hide and seek—lover-
Birds building a nest above the clouds. I
Watch them name their unborn babies and
Map the future on a straight line:
In their hearts, a dream is a coloured chick
No hawk can set upon
Under the wings of mother hen.

But life is such a grisly wound!

This afternoon, the boy’s mother weeps on
The TV & follows the breaking news of
The remnants of her husband and her son,
Chewsticked by the last explosion. After
Janazah, she watches the earth devour them.

Tonight, the girl guillotines her gleeful
Memories behind my window panes.
Her fingers shovel the earth till
Her nails reek of bruised water
In search of her parents and her lover: war has split
Open for them a hideout under the sand.

How haunting is it
To witness bullets knock the breath
Of those who own the key to one’s heart
Into a stop—to watch the earth
Map their bodies as wilt roses?
How long, I beseech, can this little heart
Endure the plosive sentences of war,
Before it explodes into a stop?

Biography

Arikewusola Abdul Awal writes from Oyo state, Nigeria. He centers his creative works on home, self-discovery, Yorùbá traditions, love, spiritualism, and more. He is an English and Literary Studies student at the Federal University Oye-Ekiti. His poems have appeared in Afritondo, Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Arting Arena, Eboquills, NWF journal, Spillwords, and elsewhere. He enjoys looking at the full moon.