Forget the dragon’s glittering spine,
The hero’s shout, the blood-red wine.
Forget the maps to kingdoms lost.
Count this the truest, sharpest cost:
When chaos snags the softest thread,
When doubt becomes the daily bread,
When life feels frayed, a tangled rhyme…
Child, find you a tooth comb.
Not for the lion’s matted mane,
Or treasure dredged from sunken plain,
But for the snarl behind her eyes,
As dusk descends and patience dies,
And supper’s cold, and words are thorns,
And every tender feeling mourns.
To smooth the knot before it sets…
Find you a tooth comb.
Seek it where the old things stay:
The drawer that holds the yesterday –
A button, thread, a faded note,
Beside the winter overcoat.
Or maybe where the willow weeps,
Where buried, quiet sorrow sleeps,
Or in the pocket, deep and warm,
Against the gathering thunderstorm.
It’s not in castles, high and stark,
But in the dimming kitchen dark,
Where his rough hands, now slow and frail,
Fumble where the memories sail.
To lift the weight of years unsaid,
From lines etched deep upon his head…
A gentle touch, a careful roam…
Find you a tooth comb.
For legends aren’t just battles won
Beneath a fierce, unyielding sun.
They’re in the patience, slow and deep,
The promises we strive to keep
When tempers flare and tears are near,
Combing out the knots of fear.
They’re in the touch, precise and kind,
That combs the tangles from the mind.
When grief arrives, a sudden gale,
Tearing every hopeful sail,
And every thought’s a snarled mess,
A crushing, wordless emptiness…
Before the world turns wholly numb,
Find you a tooth comb.
To tease apart the brittle strands
Of love let slip from careful hands.
To search the wreckage, fine and true,
For glimpses of the me and you
That lived before the fracture came,
Before we learned to speak in blame.
Each tiny tooth, a chance to save
One shining filament, one brave
Refusal to let love succumb…
Find you a tooth comb.
So keep it close, this humble key,
Not wrought for fame or majesty,
But forged for moments, small and vast,
Where ordinary things hold fast
Against the pulling, tearing tide.
Let it be ever at your side.
For in the end, when shadows loom,
And silence fills the final room,
They’ll speak not of the wars you fought,
But of the gentle truths you sought,
The careful hands, the patient grace
That combed the sorrow from a face,
The quiet love that made a home…
Go, find you a tooth comb.
Then be the comb,
with teeth of light,
Combing darkness into sight.
By Jide Adesina
Author: Between Borders: Lost in the Shadows of a Cold Country
July 15th,2025
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