like unbreaking the pieces of a torn heart, trying to exhume memories from fading photographs or desperately searching for an endless blue mass of messages squeezed into far forgotten glances, i'm reminded again there's a plethora of ways to make a vessel of blood and bones into a barrel of grief. how do your words still hold the same weight? cobwebs creaks dust, this house haunts me. i want to write about you, about the unsaid wishes you never fulfilled, but i find you, adorned in the colours of the poems i never named, the ones stuck in limbo, the ones i mourned & i'm still mourning. teach me how to dissect these fears, how to sing the blade's song and watch my worries find its key. tell me how to find your noise in this silent world. perhaps this time, it'll rain
and i won't find drizzles, nesting on my face. the sun will smile and nostalgia won't be what's left after its rays paint these yellow walls. something about the few seconds of silence after your song breathes its last carries a memento and i'm here, peeling this numbness, whispering i don't like feeling like this. hear me, this home aches, it yearns to find that heat, that proof it was once a house on fire, an element reeking of redemption. f a d i n g, i'm still here, wondering if this is the end, if this is where every question melts into the wind and carries the weight of hopes in its entirety. who knew dust would one day feel this close?
Taiwo Hassan is a Nigerian student, poet, and writer. His works have appeared in Shallow Tales Review, Second Skin Magazine, Praxis Magazine, Ice Floe Press, and Disquiet Arts, to mention a few. When he's not writing, he's either listening to music, singing, or watching TV series. You can call him a movie freak too. His social media handles include @iamtsoul on Instagram and @symplytaiwo on Twitter.