I’m caged in, i taste sour on Sundays; i don’t like worship…

Home

My body calls me home

My body calls me home

You remind me of sandcastles breaking the sombre winds

My body is a symphony played on dark days, blue nights

My body is related to limewater; it flushes, it drops

Like ice skimming on coal fire, like the shell on my name

I’m caged in, i taste sour on Sundays; i don’t like worship

I believe in God but i don’t like the war we harbour.

The night tans in white roses; the milky moon, the stars

The glass shrinks to fit your name into its lustre

You can’t break. You can break. You’re a god & gods break.

My body is a realm – a tomb for the body of gods

You buried your tongue inside the sanctuary.

I don’t like your kind of god that kills death with its weapon.

My body calls me home

My body calls me home

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Poem © Dipe Jola
Image by Efes Kitap from Pixabay