by Oluwaseyi Daniel Busari

They say the earth has no mouth, but it speaks in warnings.
The sky holds its breath before it cries.
The harmattan is a messenger, but we refuse to listen.

A woman buys salt at the market, and the seller smiles.
She says, “Salt is never cheap.”
She means, Be careful what you ask for.
A man buys salt and licks his fingers,
Tasting the debt before it is due.

It is easy to forget that salt is the ocean dried up,
The river without forgiveness.
It remains on the tongue like regret.
Too much, and even sweet things turn bitter.

The elders say, “Do not waste salt, it is a bad omen.”
They mean, “Do not waste what is earned with sweat.”
But a child laughs and throws a pinch into the wind,
Thinking that the wind is kind.

At night, when the sky is dark enough to hold secrets,
The old women sit outside and whisper:
“Did you hear? She married a rich man but cries at night.”
“Did you hear? He built a house but cannot sleep in it.”

They say what is sweet must cost something.
And so, I adorn my food carefully with salt.
Too much salt, and the tongue forgets what is real.

Oluwaseyi Daniel Busari is a budding Nigerian poet/essayist whose driving force is his affinity for language and its uses. He draws inspiration from Joseph-Jean Rabearivelo, Christopher Okigbo, John Donne, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Leopold Sedar Senghor, Kofi Awoonor, among others. You can find him on X, Medium, and Substack as palmwyndrinkard.