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Beneath wisdom
<p>*Beneath Wisdom*</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>The grass at the backyard of my father’s house stays greener,</p><p>pouring out something heavy,</p><p>a scream of memory I cannot name.</p><p>Am I meant to pluck it,</p><p>or sit beneath its bitter, strong leaves</p><p>and let them shade me?</p><p><br/></p><p>The grass grows taller than the walls,</p><p>and it reminds me of the words:</p><p>Nigbati awọn ewe ba dagba, awọn ewe kọ ẹkọ ọgbọn…</p><p>(When the leaves grow tall, the herbs teach wisdom.)</p><p>So I sit beneath it, learning what time whispers.</p><p><br/></p><p>The grass stays with time.</p><p>It watches the walls crack,</p><p>watches them rebuild themselves.</p><p>It shines through all,</p><p>dies and rises again like fire from burning charcoal.</p><p><br/></p><p>The wind drags it here and there,</p><p>and I sit with it for a while,</p><p>before walking back to the house—</p><p>where the grass now grows at the backyard of me.</p><p><br/></p><p>*~ART*🤎</p>
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