in the end you do not eat
the meal,
the meal eats you.
you spice the honey-beans
to a fault,
and dish it with the heavens
grace.
it simmers – boiling with
thousand faces
beyond our eyes, to the pregnant sky.
just then,
you slice the weed
into the meal,
‘it’s the grace’, you say.
you said, you’ll savour its
sweetness and grace
and doze off to high heavens.
your stomach – it upsets
your eye, rages like thunder
in a cup.
it’s not sweetness but madness.
why does death have so many
faces?
you puke
and watch as the meal
turn renegade in your belly.
Ibrahim Abdul-lateef is a budding writer who uses poetry as an instrumental tool in voicing out circumstance, as I perceive it. He studies Law at the University of Ilorin, but writes poem as a passion.
