Everything Here
You realized later that life was giving you a poetry lesson. Teaching you that just because the first line came out right didn't mean the rest of the poem would. Sometimes the metaphors would refuse to come through. The imagery, no matter how hard you tried to paint it, would just not appear right. You would look everywhere for the perfect punchline to end the poem, but you would not find one. Life was telling you that just because you thought you were good with words did not mean that they would always come to you whenever you needed them. And sometimes, you just couldn’t write a poem, just like you could not write your life into poetry.
I would tear pages from my books and write what I felt. Unfortunately, my mum found the papers. I was beaten black and blue. I stopped talking and writing. I now write like my life depends on it, because it does.
...meaning, a peaceful day in June is a cold day in July; bullets are like raindrops on the mother of green...
I confess that I too would die to reach for the clouds. half abstraction. clouds which exist in half abstraction. you my dear, exist in half abstraction as
Babale was a columnist for Konya Shams Rumi and a lover of arts. She co-curated the maiden edition of Kano International Poetry Festival. She is the author of the chapbook The Rain is Like You (Konya Shams Rumi, 2023) and the poetry collection Pickled Moments (Konya Shams rumi, 2024). She hails from Kano State, Nigeria.
A big shoutout to all the scheduled poets: Word Abba, Pristine, Muna, JAYPEE, Michael Imossan, Loveth Liberty, Diligent Artist, MJAAY, Mayim M13, Baaji Akura, and Bella Ogwuche.
I cannot write a poem that does not originate from some deep part of me, and usually, these poems feature people, things, or situations I feel connected to. My mother’s poem being my first significant poem just reminds me that I have not lost that part of me even as I get older. I am grateful for that.
