By Awósùsì Olúwábùkúnmi
sometimes i wonder how
70s and 80s survived on the Afro and flabby trousers of lovers.
but because love is a universal art
broken into different sects
you become a fragmentation
& adopt the one that suits before it vanishes and
since you’re still young and colourful in age,
your life is a mosaic – art bequeathed unto you to fix.
until when age fucks you –
then you become a metaphor to daily stories
baptized in your mother’s whine
and because you’re a mosaic
fragmented by broken trusts
you think about love and render elegies
not because you’re dead but because love is a synonym for sufferings
and you – a conglomeration of metaphorical stories
relearn the art – not only of loving
but of who you are.