born of the illustrious ibeji,
You have fallen between the two worlds.
Constructing a certain void that cushions reality-
taking the real from the unreal and creating
a melange of uncertainty,
of which you rest your mind
that once carried gourds of milk
to the ifa.
Beautiful one, lagging behind the one-
who eagerly jets into the world.
Only to wish to return to the
womb and to re-begin the starting place
and to pause the finishing-
perhaps in order to erase
the chaos of being-
lifeless, life-filled, but yet
But the metamorphosis,
is parallel in your eyes-
as you seek to delve deeper into the
thrusting waters of blank parchment, that sing:
bwerani, bwerani, bwerani kuno
but yet, with one foot in
with the other unsure…unperturbed.
Kehinde, the lampost-
dimming with reflections of those forgotten
in the rebirth of timelessness.