JOURNEY TO NOTHING BY MESIOYE JOHNSON

JOURNEY TO NOTHING
i
there are two poles next street, stretching
memories of mother on its dripping chest — a signpost
for all breaths bidding their sons farewell
between sighs of a home burying its head under the feet
of a night song having father's name as soft lyrics. my lover
was an interlude breaking smiles at a funeral of worships,while
mother dared a journey to a thorny dusk and became a volunteer
of red paints to show her love in a breaking news in February.
when we hold ourselves in memories,
something holds us in itself as memories too, but who knows?
ii
this city is the last drop of voice
in the resounding gnashes of innocent veins
strangulating the tears finding home in boys' skin;
their blood describes way to baptism into a river of ashes
while another fire starts under a girl's feet, a mountain of fire
behind her, where should she find salvation, front? back? under?
or just stand still and become a prophecy of rotten tongues?
I am holding my sighs still...
iii
I released them in papa's room now held by cobwebs
in image of my rusted mother till he comes back— a taboo,
but,
memories are places we find lost ones in nothing
when everywhere called home is burning in their names,
find me in one now , find another home — nothing.

©Mesioye Johnson

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