What Named Butterflies
I start this poem with what I believe
could quietus the grieving dust,
since it is an abomination to call me a poet
when my name couldn’t be written with a pen
& a pillar of blasphemy is learning how to
weave a shroud where planting
a yam is another form of a ritual
inside my language lays a room
where my childhood dialect was born
& this country is a bunch of wood
waiting to be set ablaze
a dream too is a packet of lies
receiving the scent of another life
the only thing blushing
our eyes are a telescope of life
yet, the physiology of our pains
is what children learn to consume
& now, the forehead of our heart
knows the haemoglobin of an eye that hides
behind every smile & behind every peace.
How to Define a Country
I conjured this pain that rephrased
the destiny of homes.
I called myself a synonym of pain
and a rain that commute an unborn child
from the blanket of the mother’s womb.
let me narrate this story of a sleeky boy
from the north, that drank the blood of his mother
to quench his thirst.
another blue boy in Zamfara memorizes
the principle of raping young girls
as a way to cultivate the seed of his farm.
here, men are known to be narrating stories
between the women’s thighs.
and drawing a line on a paper is another way
of saying stealing in a cemetry is a rite.
like birds we learnt how to run,
how to mourn and how to enter the room of kisses.
like stars—night brimmed our smiles as we
enter the sun. and sun rays remold the bridge
of air that fills our nostrils.
Packet of Lies
it is in the heaven’s stomach;
you see a glittering that makes your
hope grow beards.
on your head you carried
packets of lies
crossing the hills & the cemeteries.
in your pocket you homed a
stranger, offered him a bed to lay
and steal from the bank of his soul at night.
& you named your self a synonym to death
but remember, as you chase life it rebels,
rejecting the offer you offered.
note, loneliness is not an excuse
to stay alive. and remember greed
is a sweat of the devil.
Image by rawpixel.com on Freepik
Mubarak Said TPC XII is the 3rd runner-up, poetry category of the 2022 Bill Ward Prize for Emerging Writers, a winner, March edition of the threposs poetry contest and a guest contributor at Applied worldwide, US. He is a member of Jewel literary and creatitivity foundation and Hilltop creative arts foundation. His works are forthcoming and published in World Voices Magazine, Brittle paper, Icefloe Press, Literary yard, Beatnik Cowboy, Wellerism, Teen Literary Journal, new feathers anthology, ILA magazine, the yellow magazine, ariel chart, Afrihill, arts lounge, Icreative, piker press, madswirl, imspired magazine, Pine Cone Review, Double speak Magazine, Memory house Magazine, Synchronized chaos, Susa Africa, culture cult press, south broadway press, thebezine magazine, williwash, hot-pot magazine, Literary cocktail, Applied Worldwide, Opinion Nigeria, Today Post, Daily Trust, Daily Companion and elsewhere.
