Imagine an air filled blue balloon,
chased by a little girl
reciting rhymes in glee,
thrown by the winds to the prickly
thorns of a hibiscus.
What surprise that beautiful
should hurt beautiful. In the
ever bustling city of Lagos,
on its highways, rabid cars bark at each other,
sweat drenched bodies saunter in the sun
like half alive captured fishes
wriggling in sad attempt
to jump back into water only to be
picked and washed clean by the fishermen
who sell their merchandise to Calabar women
who in turn make the sweet fish stew
you nibble at, fork deep, in between sips of
palm wine & glances to the Lekki water front.
In between the dark shades, the feigned composure & the speakers unfurling afrobeats,
I see your kind of love. The Lagos kind; a calm hustle needed to survive in this city
of expensive shit & maga & mugu
& me & you.
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