How My Mother Prays
in a graveyard
deceased are buried
with white yards &
some with lustrous boxes
as we have metals
that are malleable, ductile and sonorous
like my father’s poetic words
we still have non-metals that are brittle
in poetry, a poet writes a dirge &
sometimes, it’s called a requiem.
and another writes a ballad, with glimmer of hopes. in different ways.
in different worlds.
and our prayers are compounds
they contain different unfiltered elements, combined
but my mother, an old poetess
the goddess of prayers knows how to pray
how my mother prays? it’s a long story:
she opens her arms, smiles at the skies, and bends her head down, till she reaches where the foot of younkers step
with tears wetting her cheeks—salty tears &
like the running stream, some pass to her mouth, but still, mother opens her mouth that sings the name of God
with eyes full of hope, she opens her mouth, and some fragrance dances up to the sky. and at the end, she says, with eulogies: “may we rise again!”
Deserted
On my face
There is a smile
That rivals
The content of my heart
In my eyes
You will never see pain
But there is a rain
Of tears in them
I walk
Eating fruits
While my legs hold nothing
But a body full of sorrow
We met
Befriended each other
Like moon
And the twinkling stars
But today
A line of dichotomy
Has been drawn in between us
Drawn by you
I know
If one would dig
Deeper in my heart
Would see nothing
I know
If one would fly
Above the blue skies
Would see nothing
What I know
Like a filtered liquid
Only your love would be seen
In the stream of my heart
I did nothing
But you burnt the bridge
Of our love
To the ground
Here I am, today
Deserted
Stained with pain
Not knowing the bane
About the author:
Salim Yakubu Akko is a Nigerian writer, poet and essayist. He has been published in numerous magazines and reputable newspapers, including Daily Trust Newspaper, Blueprint, The Guardian, Applied Worldwide, Trouvaille Review, World Voices Magazine and elsewhere.

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