The radio murders & mutters names & obsequies in monochrome. Some grief becomes just a headline. Read & forgotten. Some home becomes a brine of dust. A body of salt, drowning in grief. In our folklore, a vulture carried sacrifice to stem this drought but on her way to heavens she was beaten by rain to her present baldness. Since then a tomb becomes a home of wail & the elders bear laceration of un-storied hardship. Yet on the radio: a pastor preachifies baptism an imam implores ablution government gullies rainfall into big-ticket bottles. Everyone shouts in-dust-ries but it has been a long time that sweat turns to sweet songs. A sibling of drought, stuck in the billowing dust, cries to her fairer neighbor: "aid me in this time of drought & I remember you during my rain"
Babatunde Waliyullah Adesokan (Toonday) writes from Oyo State, Nigeria. He works with Firstbank. He is a lover of poetry; a lover of everything that breathes poetry. His works appeared / forthcoming in Pangolin Review, Wales Haiku, Ethel-Zine, Shallowtales Review, Stillwater Review, RoadRunnerReview, Lucent Dreaming etc. Twitter:@tunde_adesokan Instagram: @toondayatkins Facebook: tunde.w.adesokan, Phone number: 07032689217