1, The Metaphor of How We Render the Anthem of Broken Clouds

By Abubakar Auwal

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my father’s name is the cnemial anatomy/ i landed my bones on. i mean a synonym for the stories /that hold water and turned me into a flower/ & the haven of crippling solace; a tale chewing/ its ribs. the flowers. the monsters. the demons./ & tales that consume the mountain, god buried his /toothbrush for the nighthawks, for the fire singing /to define the history of sky. i remember the first morning /we rendered the anthem of dying clouds above/ the ridges we buried our names in. i remember the heaven /in my dreams. i mean my brother’s; the one he kissed the lips /of death with. i mean my sister’s; a simile for how the dawn broke/ into a whispering night, in between the slumber of gods./ you only taste the bitterness of everything that used to be sweet, /the day you dreamscape your breath in the warmness /of four walls, voices shattering into the box of mourning,/ lovers chewing their tongue to curse their gods./ i mean the night mother found solace in sensing how/it feels to be naked. oti ya werey is never a synonym /for the name she deserves. but, tell me what name deserves/the slave that invades the throne of his lord? sing me to my bones /& i shall breathe fire to firefly the next flight that may water us into flowers.