come crashing in like raging waves
knocking off the shadows
you shut your eyes
and let the mayhem slow fade
and drown in your yesteryears
in the scent of akara frying by the roadside,
the faint tick-tock, tick-tock
of your neighbour’s grandfather clock.
and the rushing sound of water
down the drain
to Aba river.
in the weepy feeling fingering framed photographs
trying to trace the faces you’d never see again.
in this melancholy moment
you realize the same building you’re boxed in
housed that childhood best friend
whose father you never liked.
in a second,
your focus shifts from one timeline
to another, and suddenly
you remember your mothers’ embrace,
her favourite song and her last words:
“son, not all battles must be fought.”
and while the slipping grip
of what was once colourful
slowly turn grey until they fade
like smoke into formless air…
all accusing fingers,
join them in a chorus
of evaporating revenge
your furious soul calms,
as well as the chaos in your head.
this is how memories became your asylum of restraint.