They say the moment you lose your
will to live, you are gone.
But how do I cling to the lines of hope when
my fingers have been bent by pain?
Look into my eyes, and
you’ll find them empty,
The lenses are a camouflage,
a smokescreen covering my sorrows.
The heart is meant to give life
but guess what,
Weeds now make their home in mine.
My heart pumps tears,
irrigating this desolate farm on my face.
My veins sprout evidence of a
good “suffering season.”
Days go by, bringing the end near,
I watch as my breath,
thick as smoke escapes
my shrunken nostrils.
What do you say to a person at the brink of death?
Strength made a fool of me.
It stretched into eternity,
and lost its elasticity.
Here I stand, about to jump headfirst
Into this lagoon.
I’m heading straight for
the fire of “gone too soon.”
If you have a kind of hope that can save me,
DON’T LET ME FALL.
Eshiet Eyo is a Nigerian poet and writer. She is a student of Institute of Science, Management and Technology, Ogun state, Nigeria, where she majors in Computer Engineering. She enjoys reading, writing and listening to good music.