Not quite long I embarked on a journey, this journey where only my soul
goeth; and there standeth before me three other little souls with a banner
of hatred for humanity. Begging me to telegraph their messages in the
hearts of men.

They told me how the MVA suckled life out of them; ripping them apart
slowly. How the forceps crushed, grasped, and pulled their body apart from
its root. How the scissors cut off their head, arms and legs like a shaft
from the wheat. And when I returned, I came back with a swollen heart, and
their message was swept away by the task of what lies ahead of me in the
real world.

I hear their voices again from the soak-away when I visited the loo. Their
cries channeled through the doorway of my ears into my medulla. Souls who
hadn’t lived to sin; neither have they sinned to die. And few moons from
now, they won’t be found among their peers roaming the streets with pants
bigger than their dreams. They wouldn’t be among the children whose hand
would craft beautifully Roman letters on our walls as they were flushed
through the septic tank of life or buried in the earth beneath. Their place
is now found in the stars and we can only sing songs of your heroism under
the full moon – “the ones who refused to be drowned in their own waters.”

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Who receives injection with a smiling face? How much more the agonizing
pain of sharp objects caressing through your body parts. Dear little ones,
let me tell you this:

This other side of the world is not safe to stay as the mother hen dreams
to soar high above while the eagle wishes to live among the sons of men.
The blood of your kinds has turned our grasslands red during the urgent
dialogue of guns and matchets. This place is a slaughter house and we’re
forced to live low lives like a buried seed. So dear beautiful souls, I
shall rest here to fuel my pen and write you again.

© Adeshina Abiodun Emmanuel


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