July 13, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Melanie Wasser photo



N. N. Emmanuels




Drops and Numbers




I buried you somewhere

and you came back

whole enough to be one.



What if death is

a symbol of God

and Satan in a box?



You told the sun

to shed its skin

and the moon lost

its shape, crying.



Can we allow

God to roam our

streets with doves?



Saints live in hell.






Flesh Hangs On an Epitaph



At every dinner

We eat our flesh and call it sweet,

Picking it apart like corn garbs,

Apart like when she says, “it’s over!”

“God’s sons is the body of light

And every man is a part in fullness,”

Says a lost child in silence,

In the graveyard where

Our skins hang on an Epitaph

As we search for our way back home.

He learns two mysteries on a day:

Life and Death.


So much living.

So much dying.


We shed our skins

From world to world;

From earthly to heavenly.

But in all

We are ambassadors of death.






N. N. Emmanuels

N. N. Emmanuels is from Nigeria. He writes stories and poems. His works are published in The Muse Journal and forthcoming in other magazines. Right now he is an undergraduate of University of Nigeria, Nsukka.

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