The subconscious, where migraines start.
Their genealogy is
a vehicle, a hearse,
where the dregs of peace converge
to attend their funeral at a psychiatric hospital.
When you close your eyes,
the remains of your past – in the tomb –
water themselves,
sprouting and collaging into the present.
A migraine on the other end transforms you,
minces you.
Dying is a paradox;
the genesis to an elegy whose revelations have no antidote.
You pick a dead parrot and rebaptize yourself into it.
Your mind, your ear, is now empty
–a vacuum in a scarecrow, likely already in peril.
You put on your headphones, it says a hello, blares the valediction of your deceased sister, picks up a hammer and shocks you with a coffin.
Grief is polysemous,
always a pen between its index and middle finger,
writing a new definition.
Salma Maburya is a teenage Nigerian writer, A Hausa girl and a die-hard lover of green. She adores nature and she is the founder of Girlup Smilet.ng, a GirlUp (UN) chain.