Mud water When I say each folds of their Agbada swallows a citizen, I mean my brothers' souls have been crushed under each of its folds. When I say a movement of their feet crushes the leaders of tomorrow, I mean we are like a cockroach caught under a huge feet. In my country, you will see how dreams of young boys and girls are removed like a deleted tweet, where dreams with wings flying in the sky are beaten down by a heavy downpour of their clouds, what does it mean when a spider starts to crawl up a huge wall, only for their sky to gather its grief and wash down the spider? When you take a walk into the thoughts of a random boy, you'll see it brimmed with grief, slumber, faded happiness, and he enclosing a butterfly of his dreams in his palms without letting loose, but here in reality, it is long lost like his mother who couldn't out-pace the bullets of a policeman. Here in my country, you become a god when the law becomes your kitty even if the lightening doesn't traverse through your body. Somewhere in my country, houses are garlanded by explosion, even the newspaper carries another headline of loss, another headline of the relics of ruin. The same prayer that grew with my grandmother when her tiny feet bloomed to puberty, to becoming a guest of the Grim Reaper The same prayer is stuck to my tongue, but thicker and now it tastes like a mud water. Maracas Played in pairs as the pebbles pat the inner walls of our bodies. Crafting a rhythm, o, together our rhythm sounds stronger. You at the right hand, me at the left hand or either— we rattle rattle rattle We wear the same garment on our slender body, & coincide the same sound, & bodies surmount to our rhythm. The ears lose their taste of the sounds when we separate, when one of us break— The other breaks rhythmically.
Abdulkareem Abdulkareem is a Nigerian writer, linguist, who wants his voice to go beyond the thatched roof of his mother’s house. He studies Linguistics and Nigerian Languages at the University of Ilorin, Ilorin, Nigeria. Besides writing poetry, he cherishes the historical fiction and crime fiction genres. His friends calls him Pānini. He writes from the ancient city of Ilorin. When he isn’t writing, he’s either listening to JuiceWRLD or Drake. His works have appeared on Poetrykit online anthology, ARTmosterrific, Naija Buffett Readers, The Kalahari Review, and The Shallow Tales Review,. Nnoko stories, Nanty greens