Salim Yakubu Akko | How My Mother Prays | Poetry

How My Mother Prays

in a graveyard
deceased are buried
with white yards &
not all 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:
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!”

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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 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

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