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Hands | Feyisayo Anjorin

Hands | Feyisayo Anjorin

Hands by Feyisayo Anjorin - Afrocritik

By Feyisayo Anjorin

Remember when the preacher called us fools,

tools in the hands of the devil,

level with the ground like the lost,

lusts chained to our hearts like the sand beneath our feet


We were united, body and soul, bottled up in love

But the man in black suit talked about our spirit,

 and our limits when we shut out the world

The temperature rose in the bottle, and we boiled

We dispersed like steam in the world unseen


We closed doors behind us and made music,

something new under the shade of the tropical sun,

secret dances and the harmony of sounds

We didn’t learn it, 

it came alive when we opened our bodies


The preacher spoke about the end of dust,

lost like a grain of sand by the beach,

rich with the crowd for the power of numbers,

lumber stacks around cages where they sang to their deaths


We broke all the rules,

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we carved paths in furtive places

The well was ready and the thirsty one was ready,

there are no rules when we step in the name of love


What is love? Says the preacher

What is love to the devil?

We held hands and smiled like sweet devils

He shook his head at our beautiful story

The collar around his neck was like a choke,

we promised to tell his pitiful story. 

Feyisayo Anjorin is a screenwriter, songwriter, and author whose writings have appeared in Litro, African Writer, Bella Naija, Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Nantygreens and Bakwa Magazine.

Cover Photo by McKenna Phillips on Unsplash.

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