In my gloom, I walk into a room full of dead souls,
buzzing with warlike tones; barbaric beats.
I must be firm like a wall
snapping to their noises.
What is existing in a heart without
the outline of love?
Sleep is not a way to rest here.
This is another grave of dreams
with void tombstones.
A poet somewhere in the woods had died briefly
before she could write her own story.
Another one rolled into his shadow
seeking his deranged company.
The world lost us this way
& our bones have always been the cemetery
tearing into rots like a tortured steel.
I hope to get out of this place alive
even if my smile awaits a second coming.
I Hate To Tell of Feelings That Dwell Not for Long
Why do migrating moods fail to fill my mouth?
They are birds to which my teeth are cages.
I, the guard might lose guard when I choose to speak
& wave to the vibrations of life & climate.
I can be a lonely sun until I find clouds visit
as angels with silver wings on day's trek,
or a budding stem that makes a forest
at the cycles of a clock's time.
I do not want to talk tales of drunkenness when by tomorrow,
I would be a teetotaller.
I do not want to curse life when by tomorrow,
death may frighten me by its serrated saws
& jaws of a watery abyss.
I do not want to say it is over
when what kills me could die at the touch of my next breath.
I just want to breathe a moment of heat,
of a mist, of specks of dust in harmattan,
of its chills in the winter, of its oxides when I inhale.
About The Poet
Tukur Ridwan is an award-winning Nigerian poet. His poems strives to capture just anything. Also a literary critic and essayist, Tukur has been writing since 2013. His works have appeared in Libretto Magazine, Sprinkle Storiez and elsewhere. He has authored two books and co-authored few other anthologies.