These days— I barely open my Bible, nor sleep at home with closed eyes. A child fell before a clergy & mushrooms grew on his palms, 

Something like a decayed chrysanthemum collecting his grievances to a colony. & here my brother placed a decimal sign on his footprints, then broke his name to scrota

& fetched a hymn in the league of moths, but dusts & requiem resurfaced on his chin. Plight became arithmetic, coming with zig-zag kind of steps that resembled a bronze age hunter hunting for wild animals.

Which means, his body still cradles on sickening memories, like grasshopper. But how many candle sticks can wade a night? that each time my father bolt the door, he still peeps through for running bullets

& trembles when the dog barks. Once I tried collecting his tears with my hand, felt like fetching a water with basket, like sorting for milk from the bitter leaves, like giving yourself to the aroma of whirlwinds.

my body blurs to a prayer & fell on the lintel of the church yard &  I, an unbeliever, my unbelief wakes me with a litany emitting from  the mouth of guns. I unsealed my lip to recite a language I can't fathom. Maybe, that's the shortest distance to meet God.

Poet’s Biography

Anderson Moses is a poet from a small village in Akwa Ibom State, Nigeria. He’s a student in the department of History and International Studies, University of Uyo. His works have been published or forthcoming in Brittle paper, Nantygreens, Eboquills and elsewhere. Apart from writing, he enjoys snapping images and doing historical research.