ISSUE I: P(art) of the Soul

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Enigma
By Charles Nnanna
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Is a fact more unsettling than that the seed
must first die to become tree?
That the birds nesting under it are oblivious
of the innocent little grain that died?
What paradox is bitter as this:
that the chick in order to live would have to break
the egg, the generous house
that housed it when it had no legs to kick? Or
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that the woman must break in her own blood
so she'd hear the cry of a joy indescribable?
Truly a heart can’t know joy unless it's broken,
just as a dream can’t know reality
until it breaks many a bitter sweat.
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I
look at the world through
a broken lens, not a magnifying glass. Helps
me see myself as I really am before the mirror. A
broken being
in need of God's tool box. / And sometimes, verily,
a thing has to be made very dirty before finally it
becomes clean. The world, perhaps, is
just a pile of mud every dreamer must first climb
on before ascendency.
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Enigma
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