The abeyance of clouds fade into void Does a broken trunk grow another branch? Have you seen a wall mend its broken body? I live beside a cloudage of constant change, My falling skin is enough reason for you to believe, A cracking lip stretching into an ado of time, There's an earth folding its breath into my nostrils, I found it between the smoke of a cooking pot, Falling skies, inside the thread of a carved pumpkin; Inside Accra, engulfing the solemn reality of a town; Engulfing Dakar, encroaching towards a blue tip of A family's home; encroaching Durban, nesting on the Palm of chaos; A nest found in lagos, A tree branch fakes a smile beside a falling wall And we're told that bodies Are green fields, realizing their grave brown transformations.
Sculptures of Tribalism
In transcriptions, A tribe is a ''Tryb'' And in this recapitulation; We are men Taught to feed our tribes to the world Like carving tribal marks On the sacred face of death Men birthing tomorrow's men Marking our territory of a sinking land How we squeeze our names Into the pages of today's tomorrow And bury in our children's pocket Sweet names, A bevy of refacing skin, Wormholes towards the city of blues And night becomes a twinkle of dust Moulding the terracotta of yesterday On my sons face, no grave for you No tomb for me, no history Of another tribe transcribing its name in Greek.
ABDULRAZAQ SALIHU is a 17 year old Nigerian poet and writer. He is a member of the Hill top creative arts foundation and has his works published online nationally and internationally.