studio 44

this is not how we die.


on a diet of unknowns: ketepa and the smell of acrylics/ we dance to lyrics/ we have never known– childhoods activated like we once spoke lingala (but we perhaps did, or not)– [fated to the uncertainty of living– as though we were dead]


and we have learnt to bury each other with dry eyes; we have cried all the tears/ for people we didn’t know (but mostly for ourselves)


usha’ahi enda funeral ya artist ukaanza kuimagine n’ani next?

“no one acknowledges me”, said between puffs and sips/ perhaps a deeper yearning for meaning/but we get into this nothingness– a nothingness that will never know us by name/ a blankness that stares back at us/ mourning before we are dead.

this is how we die.


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