Benyeakeh Miapeh // CATAPULT // Poetry

 Benyeakeh Miapeh

 

 

 

CATAPULT

 

 

    Aren't our shoulders tired of carrying this story around?  

   “we are located on the WORST coast of Africa” — Liberia  

 

here, the truth is;  

at some point living becomes a given privilege — by hunger  

& on the other side, our feet swim in abandoned water from septic tanks  

until we forget our bodies — on the floor in Water street¹  

 

here, the truth is;  

broken street lights have lost breath to sleep & at night, sunlight melts in our bed  

when a cry comes in many tones, it becomes a melody  

like how caged birds recite pain in lullaby  

 

like how a glass filled with hopes sleeps in storms  

like how hunger shines my lips too  

 

here; the truth is;  

we ran naked in rains at age 5, kicking balls in goal poles  

& mud holes  

 

now it's the other way around,  

this morning — i saw my country in the mirror;  

this time, she was the major player  

catapulting our hope to starvation.  

 

 

(Water Street– a street located in Central Monrovia, it gets flooded with messy water when rain falls).

 

 

 

 

 •

 

HUMAN RIGHTS AS A POEM 

 

 

today, i fold my elbows & cup my palms before eternity  

to ask how human rights pledges sleep in white sheet  

yet Princess Cooper bathed in her blood for survival.  

 

if human rights was a girl in my country,  

it wouldn't have been hawking between cars & resting head on earlier marriage pillows  

 

No more tears, it all has the same old story.  

don't let the stove on the kitchen sink go out of flames — women  

marry your knees to bare floor before your husband —women  

 

everything from hauling water to Suffocating in kitchen smoke behind swinging doors,  

from writing a poem to the punches for gender equality  

if human rights was a child in my country,  

 

it wouldn't have laid on cold muddy floor like little Angel Tokpah,  

it would've become a survival like Jessica Lloyd —  

it would've counted Lucas's breath behind rusted bars  

 

If human rights was a poem in my country,  

it would've told a tale of how our lips can't tell the stories told by our scars —  

no skin on our bodies  

or how our smiles have grown into scriptures in the arms of grim reaper —  

 

African children  

at some point we pack our bags to leave  

but we can never pack our hearts  

so a poem like this has no ending in a country like mine.

•

  Benyeakeh Miapeh is an aspiring young writer from Liberia. A student of civil engineering at the University of Liberia. He has his poetry works in many online magazines and on other websites such as Poetry Soup, Spillwords, We write Liberia, League of poets, Poetry, Sleepless night in Monrovia, Eboquills, Pawnerspaper, African poetry, theprelude Orangedreamafrica, afritondo, nantygreens and many others. He believes in expressing his thoughts through poetry. He has collaborated with many writers around the world to bring the narratives through poetry. And also participated in many chapbooks and anthologies such as the PoetrySoup anthology, StoryMirror anthology, the flame chapbook, the citizenillegal chapbook and many others in and out of Liberia.