JEREMIAD: "URBAN BRUISE" BY PUNSMITH

Why do I feel ratchet?

Like a rusted gear in a system that won’t spin.  

Heads down, heart locked,  

Throwing away my future  

Like it’s a flyer in the wind,  

No parachute, no life jacket,  

Just vibes and vague regrets.

Sleepless nights,  

My eyes scrolling the ceiling like Twitter feeds,  

Dreams buffering,  

Reality lagging behind like a cheap network plan.  

I dance with shadows  

To the offbeat rhythm of a broken playlist,  

Where joy skips like scratched CDs.

A beautiful nightmare—

That’s what they call it, right?  

This Abuja of dreams and diesel fumes,  

Where boulevards shine but gutters overflow,  

Where hope wears secondhand clothes  

And prays not to get stained by the news.

Did Nigeria really happen to me?

Or did I sign a glitchy contract  

In a matrix coded by hustlers and heartbreak?

Maybe I’m just steeze-wrapped sorrow, 

Dripping designer pain,  

Wearing confidence like borrowed agbada  

That doesn’t quite fit—  

But I stunt in it anyway,  

Because style is survival here.

© ABDULMALIK YAHYA 

(The Punsmith)

©07-04-2025

The poet persona laments over the poor environment of his residence country Nigeria. The speaker feels tired of discouraging returns of his society. Yet, the voice believes in the beauty of his style.