Salim Yakubu Akko

How My Mother Prays in a graveyarddeceased are buriedwith white yards &not all with lustrous boxes as we have metalsthat are malleable, ductile and sonorouslike my father’s poetic wordswe 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…