THE BIOLOGY OF DARKNESS

 

On nights thick with the dark of depression

I flip through old biology notes

 

So much science has to say about

Light, darkness & adaptation

Where all these are metaphors

For good, evil & all that’s between

 

& my hands find the chapter

On sight & sensory organs

Let me paraphrase:

 

“On settled in the dark

The iris, like your heart, contracts

& your pupils dilate

To swallow in the dark

 

You soon find sight in the dark

& in it, you revel

 

& rebel?

 

So much so that when the light bulb goes on

You curse; as the light fries your visual purple

You rebel; you shut your eyes

You hate the polychromatic colours”

 

You are partially blind

You don’t want this light-light

You want the dark-light

 

Addendum:

 

Perhaps if beauty is relative

Light is, too?

You tell me.

 

THE ONE THAT CRIED BEAUTIFULLY

 

we watched him enter into himself

like a snail

 

his body sturdy, yet patterned beautifully

in spirals

 

we didn’t see that his smiles got straighter

they did get straighter

 

a war was going on in those confines

like water boiling angrily in a teakettle

 

& when the kettle, I mean, his body, hissed

we didn’t hear too. or we did hear

 

but you see, we thought he was blowing a tune –

a sweet soulful tune

 

we hailed his skill. the beauty with which he carved

solemnity

 

music that was a product of deep introspection

we thought this way, you know

 

we didn’t know then that introspection could be

a metaphor for lonely souls craving asylums within

themselves

 

territorial. that’s what the bodies of men are.

 

so when he rolled into his body

his body tossed him out like vomit…

 

so he was left hanging between his innards

& an outside that never listens

 

he was left hanging

hanging

hang

i

n

g

 

dead

from a tree

 

the tune he was playing was his dirge.

 

 HEALING

 

hung on my yellow painted wall is a clock

erasing with its tick-tock singing hands

all the wounds painted on the canvas of my mind

look how time

in its clockwise dance

navigates from dry to rainy season

giving rise to blooming flowers

 

About the Poet

Abdulbasit Yusuff writes from Abuja, Nigeria. When he is not talking about football or re-watching the action scenes of blockbuster movies, he writes short poems and sleep. Some of his works have been published on Tuck Magazine, Kalahari Review and “Spark of Hope: an anthology of poems for saving lives”.