the rendition of àbíkú
Eniola Abdulroqeeb Arówólò
“that is to say, a woman is tired of breaking into storms every time
her child comes & goes.” Ololade Edun
at the threshold of death, i am a nomad
who visits often and takes his french leave.
counting how many times i have gambolled
around God’s mansion is as doing the maths
of grime dirt. all i am saying in essence is that
every time i break away from the pallid hands of universe,
something else dies alongside—the ruptured joy of my mother
and she accosts God in her tears-soaked, mid-night prayers of lampooning
her. or perhaps, of gifting her a lilith who relishes in the art of maleficiating
everything jargoned Peace. just like Maami, i am transmuting my prayers
into a mirror, this way i am going to see God; tell him that i am tired
of becoming a fugitive, a natural disaster; tell him that this time i am here
to towel the Red sea inhabiting the eyes of Maami.
* àbíkú—a child, in Yoruba custom, who dies and is reborn several times into the same family.
* Maami—a Yoruba phrase for ‘my mother.’
Eniola Abdulroqeeb Arówólò: “I am a writer and student of Mass Communication who enjoys writing on child abuse, inequality, politics and domestic violence. My poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Nnoko Stories, Mixed Mag, Ninsha Arts, Arts Lounge, Eremite Poetry and elsewhere. At my leisure time, I am either writing, reading or binge-watching animes.”