And my mother…

By Abdulrazaq Salihu

For the people that hold me with fur

My misery is a small pill,
A body, punished by light
& at the threshold of my
Suffering my mother stretches
Her hands towards the darkness
Before it touches the flowers
In us, and my mother calls
The evil by its pulse before
It reaches for our names
& my mother sings a prayer,
One syllable away from god,
The other towards our reckoning
& my mother becomes a cradle
Of colors, black all the way—
Black all the way and my mother
Blooms in place for the rain,
& life, with its blunt claws
Swivels a knife into our
Music and rayuwa abun takaici ne,
Life is a thing of despair &
At the end of my supposed life,
My mother will be there, small
As hope in the mouth of desperation,
Small as tastebuds on the palette of
The tongue, my mother will be there
Arms stretched wide enough to hug
Something so beautiful and small.

BIO:

Abdulrazaq Salihu, TPC I, is a Nigerian writer and poet. He’s a member of the hilltop creative arts foundation and has his works published in a couple of fine literary journals and magazines. He tweets @arazaqsalihu and instagram: Abdulrazaq._Salihu