Despite the tenderness in everything, I do not want
To speak of the tears, but I go on
To write about the fall of things anyway.
I’m scared I’m laughing this minute, and I might weep
In the next. I’m afraid to love this minute despite
The glamor. I might end up messing things up.
I panic every time I get my hands full with berries,
Worried I’d find those same hands grasping air.
I’m scared my bright clothes will outgrow their spark.
I know I should make my mind a sieve as these thoughts
Trickle in, but I’m just tired of watching beauty break.
Ask the flowers what awaits after the bloom if not a shade of dullness.
Ask the bright burning candle at the end of the room,
The matchstick after its evanescent glow.
I do not deny the sparks, but what follows every beautiful thing?
Ask the face in folds of wrinkles what was
Before the cruelty of time, before age struck its blow.
What grey and balding awaits the head once wrapped
In elegant tufts—a baby strapped in the grace of shawls.
You should point to me, dare optimist, what succeeds every laughter.
Tell a story with a happily-ever-after,
And I’d show you a hundred looming with shadows.
I’m sorry, I’ve watched too many hearts crack to know love.
Ayiyi Joel, TPC XVI, is a young budding poet from Edo state in Nigeria. A Best Of The Net Nominee.
Featured image by Rebecca Peterson-Hall.
