People are scared of your silence.
I saw how fears brought tears to my lover's eyes
when he asked me: why won't you complain?
His voice was the faces
of kids supporting the losing team
in a stadium.
His heart raced through rains
that fell like half-bitten apples from a vine tree,
his thick lips waggled in silver waters
when he said: your silence kills.
I swear I could tell he was a dead leaf
head down-legs up-head up-hands apart
somersaulting in the air to locate hell.
But I wore my secrets on my teeth
my next actions were in the open of my skin
and my words were obvious: I'm fine.
Throwing no clues his way
Enjoying him die and wake again in dreads.
There is a pain in waiting and it hurts most
when you're waiting for the end to start.
It was soon after I learned how to marry forests
that a bird whispered the powerful tools to me.
Shapeless, invisible, they were;
touch knowledge, the beautiful blue little bird said
place silence in a box
and see faith for yourself.
My lover became a piece of wood in a river
heavy yet floating on the doubts in his hair.
I watched him eat his soul up and lick his fingers
he tried to know my next set of words
as my lips danced his hopes to grave: I'm fine.
I need to visit the washroom, he said
I laughed softly and kissed his lips
I hugged his imperfect body like a god
he melted into liquid and evaporated away.
My lover is now the perfume I wear
to burn all other men to ashes
he is the memory of ruined castles
in my flesh.
At least, he could have prompted me to be human too.
By Oppong Clifford Benjamin
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