THE TRUTH by INUA PHAZE ELLAMS

The only lies I tell
are the beautiful ones.


In such lucid lumberings I met a beggar
with scarred pupils and glue bound wrists
that loop-holed rain kissed palms together.

Flapping like flags
I approached my beggar bearing bags
wiped her brow with my lying lips
and lay my bags by her feet.

In a secret devoid of heat
she picked past my scabs
side stepped my boulders
and said in plain speak:

“I have felt the swaying of the elephant’s shoulders
and watched a tilting curfew the moon in sail
have railed revolutions in the fronts of fighters
from my history I come thus, gloriously scathed.

these are the scars I carry” she said
“Gold is not worth my wounds
you are yet to parry with fate’s shoot
for restless lies the ranger in you”