GOLD MINE
In front of my latest work, titled GOLD MINE
Terrachroma on canva
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Captive No More (III)
Captive No More (III)
7.
Music is the language of tragedy,
and dance, the vocabulary of trauma.
Silence, the death of feelings,
marks the beginning of madness.
After my great grandmother in vain
yelled the name of her son, Akin,
several times, and got no response,
she stepped outside and scanned
where he was playing,
and yelled his name again,
when she did not see him there
her stomach sank
because down in the pit of her womb
she knew he was gone.
The beginning of time.
The beginning of time.
Is it a house?
Or a kolanut?
Is this thing an insect inside the mystery of life?
Who owns your body?
Who owns your body?
Would you be shocked to learn
you don’t own your body?
Ten things, I hate to tell you,
claim ownership of your body
The first owner of your body
is your name.
THE WORK IS DONE.
Done.
256 codes of Ifa completed.
I believe I do fly.
We all fly.
High above the clouds of limitations, we soar.
WEAPONIZING MEAT
WEAPONIZING MEAT What is at stake in Nigeria is much more than the crisis of the…
MAMA
MAMA
Mother is a tree
with fruits, rooted in
Traditions of nurturing,
watered in the womb of affection
Her milk flows
down the hills of time
from one generation of love
to another recuperation of hope