Made of stone

Photo: Samuel Martins

I’ve cried a lot but no tear has dropped

Only my spirit bleeds and my soul’s eyes pop

My tears are locked under a lid of ego

Boys don’t cry, Mum had said

They swallow pain like pills and break it

like brisket between their molars

She also said,

A crying man is a weakling

Deserving no respect

Kids should gather around him—

Clap, dance and sing of his weakness.

So, we cry in our souls—

Gradually rotting in depths of depression

Because the world only has two female ears

And the sound of our agony is a flat note

played on the key of A-flat.

And when our agony grows into adulthood

We find solutions in jumping over third mainland bridge

To swim and drown in hopeless despair

We find peace in the noose

Or in drunk driving into sleeping trucks

I will teach my son

That it is not bad to cry

Men have lachrymal glands too

I will tell him

It’s okay to cry,

Punch the wall, say the words in broken tempo

And lay on the cushion of a good woman’s comforting bosom

If you find one              

But after crying, be a man

Dust yourself up and carry on.

About the Author

Ndifreke George has shared his thoughts on over twenty journals including; Brittle Paper, African Writer, Praxis Magazine, Better Than Starbucks International, Asian Signature, etc. He is a writer by day, noon and at night. When he’s not writing, he’s processing funny thoughts. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.