A cloth worn, With a last breath it’s torn. The carcass A vessel made of clay and bones, The only robe the soul has worn. The carcas Baths with care, But a few days the dust reclaimed it share. The carcas When the soul takes a trip, The carcass left to drip. The carcass No longer bleeds, Its purpose served, its final deeds. The carcass Once kissed by life’s flame, No voice, no name. The carcass Adorned in silk or rags, the same, Returns to dust, without acclaim. The carcass Not the end, but the shell released, While the soul journeys In search of peace. Patrick Ekong ©️
The sound of my phone vibrating on the wooden bedside table jolted me awake. Eyes heavy with sleep, I squinted at the screen to read a message from my friend, Albert. “Hi Pat. Check your DM…” were the first words on the notification. “It’s about your girl…” followed almost immediately as I picked up the phone. I clenched my jaw and let out a frustrated breath. “Hey bro, what’s up with your usual chitchat?” I texted back. “I saw your girlfriend today at Tropicana with a guy…” his next message came in almost instantly. “I’m not interested. Jane and I aren’t together anymore,” I replied. “What happened?” Albert probed, poking his nose in as usual. “I’m not in the mood for a lengthy explanation. Just know that Jane and I are no longer together,” I shot back. I dropped the phone angrily, glanced at the wall clock above me, and realized I was almost late for my reading class. My exams were only days away, but the days leading up to them had been hell—perhaps the most traumatic days of my lif...