NOT THAT I WOULD REALLY DIE

By Komolafe Samuel

The world is a lot of place
And we sing of a mortality that is not ours. Ekun!
We sing of a county in which we're aliens
A foreign people,
Strangers.

We are the long and dusty road to a lost place
The secret dialogue on a rusty trip
I am tears downing from the sullen eye of gods
An elegy risen in the night

Daily, we speak of a long silence
Of how we can't traipse the map of our fathers
Of why we can't motion into death's tunnel like everyone.
For a voice said "the day you eat of this fruit, that day you shall die"
Of how we can't live like our mothers.

I speak of why I can't die from where I came from.
Why I am not human like others.
Why I died before I lived
I speak of nothing, just the silence of myself
And painful things that words cannot decribe.

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