A CAREFUL EXALTATION OF THE BODY AS THE PUREST FORM OF ART AND A SIDE NOTE ON BEAUTY | a poem by Taofeek “Aswagaawy” Ayeyemi

A muezzin's call breaks into this body/ dips my tongue
into a Diwan's chorus/ In this room/ scripts of litanies pile high/

I pull a local blade from its cracked wall/ sharpen it against a cornerstone/
and reshape the edges of my tribal marks:/ the magnetic metals

calling hearts into submission/ I fill the cracks with nine flower
roots each/ where nails of fear were once drilled/

where owls and bats once nested/ This room once had a furnace/
Sometimes I assemble fish and bush meat over its fire:/ a reinvention

of furnace into a fireplace/ into a kitchen/ into a beauty salon/
Beauty is not the object sitting on the canvass of my mirror/

beauty is the smile on my face/ redressing grief/
opening floodgates for bees to deposit their nectars/

for serenade and aubade/ Some nights/ I was the fuel
igniting the fire burning me/ I was the pain across my windowpane–/

a blur dispelling its credence before the morning drizzle did the wiper/
Today, I befriend miracle / I am a magic/ I hold water and warmth/

Sometimes I go into prostration to worship my body/
God is not that jealous/ He had created man in His own image/

I am picking stones and crumbs of bean pods/ separating
and shifting beans/ Who is cutting onions? / This body is burning/

but its smoke is of incense/ This room / is a make-up kit/ &
this poem is the grip of goldsmith/ fanning the fire of my comeliness/


[The title is a Twitter caption by Adedayo Agarau  for a short video clip of himself, posing.]