Voice of Promise
18th April, 2016 Writers

The voice you wait---
Lies in cemetery of your phone
In a grave---with open casket

You go there every night,
Without your legs in your mind;
To say something to gathered stones...

The road is in your thumb
The digits is in your head
All you need is just to dial...

Promise you plant still fruits
But I don't know if you've tasted it ---
It's bland. It's rugged. It's livid.

Lagos, Nigeria
  • When someone told me I don't call, I reply with this piece.

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