Temple

TEMPLE

Not all corpses' final home is a cemetery,
Some stories are so noble you bury them within yourself.
I know of a young girl whose body hears prayers daily
Vultures of varying colour clamour at her gate;
Each one hoping for a muffled ejaculation.

I once saw a boy advertise his future 
on a single page of a cardboard paper.
The bead of sweat on his face was a river,
I was among those who drank from it.
The empty plates adorning his front were alive - breathing
They were wise enough to sing him to eternal oblivion.
I watched him sleep for one fortnight and a night,
Then i took what was left of his bones 
and hung it up my wall.

I once heard a man say 
"Your darkest hour come just before your dawn"
Then i dissected him and discovered that he himself
 was trapped in an endless loop of nocturnal saliency all his life.

I once saw a man set himself on fire
He claimed every pinch of pain made him feel alive.
The lines on his palm held an untold story
Story he himself found in the abyss
 of the empty bottles his father left him.
But he didn't die that night;
Death is a divine prize and he was too holy to deserve it.

My body is a temple of untold tales
Men bearing burnt offerings come in daily,
Worshipin' my tales.
The path that leads home is tarred with scars and pains
Look into my eyes,
Let the fire in my heart quench your rain of bliss.

(C) Animashaun A. Al-ameen
Inc with Paul Piston Nation 
“The odyssey of an aspiring little boy”
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