D.M Aderibigbe

by Horror Sleaze Trash on October 29, 2012

D.M Aderibigbe is a 23-year old writer from Lagos, Nigeria, an undergraduate student of History and Strategic Studies of the University of Lagos. He writes poetry, fiction, non-fiction, plays and lyrics. His work has been published or forthcoming in the UK, Canada, Australia, Nepal, India, South Africa, Zimbabwe and the United States by, Vox Poetica, Pressboard press, UP Literature, HUSMW Press, The New Black Magazine, Misfits’ Miscellany, Thickjam, Ditch Poetry, Bluepepper,The Applicant, Rusty Nail, Jellyfish Whispers, Wordriot,Pyrokinection, Red River Review, Carcinogenic, Deadbeats,Napalm and Novocain, Kritya Black Fox Literary Magazine and Poetry  ulawayo. His poems have been included in the anthology ON THE WORDS OF LOVE by the Canadian group Poets with Voices Strong. A die-hard INTERNAZIONALE FC MILANO fan.

SACRIFICE

the sky was the meritorious Dee-Jay, scratching the
terrifying thunderstorm every minute,
the lightning, darkened the darkness.

The chilling breeze strolled about in jealousy.
Yes! Jealous of us,
we knew the heaven would dissolve anytime
soon, yet,
we refused to leave where we sat.

We were ready to sink, for our sinking love
to stay aloft.

We were on a slab, built on the Atlantic Ocean.
My girlfriend trampled on the face of the unhappy sky, anytime
I mentioned, love.

She drew closer to death, anytime
I mentioned, hate.

Rain started falling,
my skinny skin, ate up her corpulent flesh.
“Dammy, I love you” she said.
“I love you too baby,” I replied.

The Ocean began to drown gradually,
the slab we sat upon, sank slowly,
the rain-water dried our blood quietly,
till we died, for
our ailing love to live on.

 

 

GRAND-MURDERER

It was the period of the year, when rainfall sat
On the presidential stool,

The sky was thirsty that morning,
I went over to the well, to fetch some
Transparent liquid for bathing.

I saw cleavages hanging in the eyeballs of the fence of
our house and our
neighbour’s.

She raised her head up,
I pretended not to see her,
I looked at her from the side,
She’s a wonder stored in her flesh.

She’s fetching from the well in her compound
too.

She saw me, and looked at me without breaking a
gaze like an uninterrupted lit bulb

I was disconcerted, I was confused, I was happy

she blew kisses to me, through the eyeballs
of the fence and went away.

The next morning, the sky was
drunk with water, yet
I went to the well to fetch
gratuitous water,

She came too,
she rewound the past moments without error.

I told my grandmother about it, thinking it’ll be great.

At night, I heard she died,
She stabbed herself because her grandmother said

She can’t be with me,
Her grandmother hated my grandmother.

Her grandmother was a grand-murderer

 


IN BETWEEN (conventional knowledge)

In between life and death, are the
living and the dead.
We live so we wouldn’t die,
when we die, we stop to live,

a conventional knowledge you
might rightly say.

In between love and hatred, are the good and the bad.
The good is loved by the good
the bad is loved by the bad.

The bad is loved by the good,
the good is hated by the bad,

a conventional knowledge you
might rightly say.

In between day and night, is
light and darkness.
When the morning comes, the
light shines, darkness dies.
The night comes with darkness to
overthrow the day.

A conventional knowledge you
might rightly say.

Conventional knowledge they
truly are, but many still need to
be told.

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