Poem: THE STRANGER’S KEEPER by Remi Raji

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The Stranger's Keeper

I fall for the strangeness of first meetings.
My heart is made to run in labour of friendliness
I do not know between fan or foe
I am quick to go like the fly after the corpse
Quick to cling to the open sore of the bloodied buffalo
I am quick to pitch my tent with the sick
And damn the logic of the sane.
I came to you
as if we have met before
In the privacy of the elevator,
I greet you
even in the currency of the public toilet
as if we've there before, waiting
waiting for something to happen in this century.
I am the blood of the stranger, the unknown comer
And when that rare smile rises like the sun
it touches me deep in the skin.

Yes, I fall for the strangeness of first and repeated meetings.

— Remi Raji

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