Tuesday Poem by Tomiwa Ilori
Àbíkú – We are here for the Stillborns
The many matchsticks that won’t burn,
Must be kept in the museum of future,
Even as the matchbox gets emptied,
So that when we drown in the floodlights,
& deafening applause,
We run our hands on the glazed black charred sticks,
With steel admiration and quiet turmoil,
To understand that some lives required deaths.
If we drown in floodlights & deafening applause.