Without Blood
I used to think that suffering,
although injurious, makes a good story.
You know how it goes. The more tortured
the artist, the closer the body is to brilliance.
I still do not know if this is a myth.
But mostly, I do not care now.
I still have my horns, but I am marvelous
even without them. The truth is,
something has changed.
All I want is to live a life without blood.
The holster, unstrapped from my shoulder,
calloused by the constance of war.
I am no longer that wounded fawn,
rummaging through the bushes for rest.
The arrows of my anguish still chase,
but something must be done
about my torturous fate.
I cannot watch the light of my eyes
give in to the call of the grave.
I can already hear the chorus of my tribe.
They want the ancient blade,
the guillotine that hovered
above my head like a halo of death.
They like me better ruined.
Bruised-eyed boy. Man of many miseries.
They’d let me drown in a well
if it made the water sweet.
As if we need persecution to be pretty.
As if the body’s quest is not fulfilled
if it hasn’t been cut.
I must not burn to be beautiful.
Only those ready for death should live
through fire. The clay, hardened,
is prepared for permanence, but also
to break. Each season, I am searching
for newness, sculpting my bones
for an unfamiliar weather.
I do not pray, but I pray for mercy.
I do not worship, but the only song
scrabbling through my mouth
yearns for softness.
Let me be moldable. Let me bend
at the touch of what seeks my breath.
Samuel A. Adeyemi‘s chapbook, Rose Ash, was selected by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani for the New-Generation African Poets chapbook box set, 2023. A Best of the Net Nominee and Pushcart Nominee, he is the winner of the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize 2021. His works have appeared in Palette Poetry, Frontier Poetry, Chestnut Review, Evergreen Review, Agbowo, Isele Magazine, Lolwe, and elsewhere.