By
Kanyinsola Olorunnisola
The Weight Of Being Great At Acting
You have mastered perfectly the art
of being someone else, something else,
of trapping your tongue between your teeth,
breathing slowly with the borrowed lungs
your father left behind as his last wish.
Afraid to love what you love, you carry
others’ heartbeats as your gospel, watching
them live the lives they chose for themselves –
while you follow the scripted lines to the letter,
dead men have no wishes, you tell yourself,
yet your feet ache from walking a ghost’s journey.
You play it all so well, Al Pacino-style,
but the thing about being great at acting is this,
you begin to waste away into the wind, scene after
scene, wondering why the scriptwriter wrote you
so poorly and when it is all said and done,
you fall and break into irreconcilable pieces.
Bringing Pangaea Back
Somewhere in Kano, a coven of alchemists
converge for a witchery far beyond the reach
of mortal men. They are guided by the night’s
unwavering dark, like candles inside an ocean,
they let their light dissolve into a liquidity which
will haunt the world into submission. They are
attempting the impossible – they are indeed bringing
Pangaea back.
Millions of years ago, the first man lost his way
and we all parted into pathways swaying into the
mouth of devouring waters. Pangaea broke into separate
lands we call continents, contingent upon our folly
of wars is this severance, this tragedy, this unravelling
of the body as the empty hiding place of skeletons
of discord. Can you not see that we are hurting?
We have cut ourselves into pieces. Piece back together
this puzzle, this hustle, this battling of battalions, search
for calm in the birthplace of horrors and maybe then, with
the right amount of magic, the world can be fixed.
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