Listen well enough and you’ll hear the echoes
Of the pieces of my broken heart falling in
The vacuum left in its hallowed place.
Although I smile and laugh at everything
I simply am a mask and nothing more.

A statistic with a life but faceless;
A grain of sand in a livid sandstorm;
A single photon in diffused light;
The first scale shed by moulting snakes;
I am of lesser worth than my sentimental value.

Hold my hands and walk this walk down memory
Lane but beware the quicksand of sentiment.
First step I take in remembrance takes me
Back to serial uterine contractions,
Back to the promise of my very first breath,
Back to the washed-out cardboard box where my
Name was whispered into my infant ears,
Only to be snatched away by my tears
And baby cries as we say our goodbyes.

Complete me. Call me. Don’t call me. Nameless.


2 thoughts on “Nameless

  1. Pingback: Nameless | Yoruba-Igbo Muslimah

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