fractures like worn beads

By Raheema Auwal Panti

in the shadow of minarets and church bells,
we trace the lines of grief carved by fathers
who never returned,
prayers spill from cracked lips, soft as the dust
that covers forgotten graves, politicians drape
themselves in agbada and gele,
whispering promises that vanish like smoke
in the harmattan wind,
the mosque and the shrine stand
like silent witnesses, while the children
learn to speak in tongues of division,
tribes write their sorrow in the language
of broken promises,
loss drips from the edges of every market square,
where hands once joined now tremble
with suspicion.
imam’s voice echoes with words
meant to heal, but the wounds run
deeper than scripture can reach,
and the night keeps the secret of fathers
lost to borderlines drawn in sand,
where faith bends beneath the weight
of empty stomachs and heavy hearts,
and hope is a prayer whispered in the quiet
between gunshots, we carry these fractures
like worn beads on a string,
knowing that tomorrow may ask
us to forgive, or to forget—but even in silence,
the blood remembers.

BIO:
Raheema Auwal Panti is a 14-year-old Nigerian writer and spoken word artist whose work explores themes of gender, identity, and c