D.M Aderibigbe-lI

Defiant Head

 

For Malala




 

 

My superstitious landlord usually told

Us we should always hide

Our heads in sacks of truth.

 

The black words became snowy; the

Night my childhood lover’s

Older brother had his head broken with

A metal bottle opener by his father

For not saying the truth over

A bar of chocolate that

Crawls into his stomach. The

Brown blood of the sugary bar painted his lips, like a

Brown
 lip-stick, and dyed his teeth brown.

 

Yet, he hadn’t seen the chocolate for

Once – so he asserted.

But the unstoppable red urine his head was

Pissing wouldn’t let him sell his defiance.

 

Would the red water, rushing from the

Tap their bullets made in your head,

Make you sell your defiance?

 

Would the seed of death, planted in

Your brain, make you pack up your promising

Notebooks to a veiled eternity, where you’ll

Use the golden sheets to light up stoves for

Superb cooking of Parathas, Halwa Poori?

 

Would the breeze of destruction blown into your
Indefatigable spirit,

Make you re-sublimate the quota of your contribution

For humanity to life-long babysitting, resulting from

The
 barbarous Hudood Ordinance,

Like the SHE in your history always

Did and still does?

 

Would you?

Would you?

Would you?

 

I know you wouldn’t.

Norms and values must be re-drafted like the date of

Today is a re-draft of yesterday.

 

The history of women in unlettered tattered

Shalwar Kameez, whose usefulness

Is to scratch the crown cork on the

Pistol of the men, with their honey
Holes,

No more, no less.

 

If these fantasies are not to be fantasies,

Your head needs to stay defiant.