This house has become the world I know Repeating routines: sleep, eat, bathe, sleep, eat, bathe And sometimes I playback hoary memories in my head Memories of things I did and things I should have done Just like when I was too scared to tell Jennifer how I truly felt I guess she wanted something more than mere friendship, A little courage and she would have been my girl. Childhood memories are the most cherished, They stream through the mind, depositing pockets of laughter; Making worries disappear like flying saucers Often, I wished humans don’t grow past the age of ten From age eleven is when the mind starts plotting against its host Telling us lies that make us hate the world and ourselves. Mama would always say memories are like building materials, The better they are, the longer the building will last. Before leaving home, I promised to make mama proud I sincerely pray and hope she lives to see me succeed Times like these remind me of everything I haven’t become. These times when life can be gone in a flash; From pandemics to earthquakes, police brutality, and suicide Hope is gradually evaporating into the dark clouds above, Worry is eating me up but I can’t lose life or sanity to senseless fears. It is astonishing how quick perceived reality can change Even the world we are accustomed to can shrink into a house.
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Emecheta Christian is an emerging writer with a small scattering of published pieces. His works have been published in the British Council international writing competition anthology and Eriata Oribhabor’s annual poetry collection amongst others. He lives in Nigeria with his family.
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