OPPOSITES

It is not love
That we love
It is the joy
That comes with it.
It is not for joy
That we are joyful
We are only fearful
Of the aches
That comes with pain.

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DARK STAR

Here, I am an invisible
Dark star among
Thousands of silvery stars.

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THE BRIDGE

The bridge that divides
Us all is like the nose bridge
Between our two eyes.

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CRICKETS

Twittering all day long
All night till morn.
In your cycle of twittering
I wonder what tales or gossips
You bear.

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STARS ON THE SEA

This shimmering sea at noon
Glitters a thousand
Drowning stars.

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HEART OF ASH

He walked into the
Living room of her heart
She let him sit by the hearth
That he fan the embers that
Had grown cold
All he had was a heart of ash!

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IDENTITY

Me, a poet?
No! I am the mirror
Of what I see!
I reflect the lies told
And the untold truths.
I am you glittering before you
In a clear pond.

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LONELINESS

It is being lost
Not being alone
That is loneliness

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DESIRES

Are we not all pagans?
Bowing to idols
On the alters of our heartfelt desires?

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IMMORTALITY

We walk on thresholds
Of immortality
Until we fall off
The cliffs of mortality.

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TONGUE TIED

I rehearsed all day
The songs I will
croon to you
when we meet.
You held me tongue tied
And I forgot the words
To my songs
What followed was
A melody of thunderous silence!

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KINDNESS

The seeds of kindness
You gave me
I have planted in
The fields of gratitude
That you might reap
Any where at harvest time.

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LIPS OF SONG

The smack lands
On her cheeks and lips
The same that sang
The night before
How he forgets so soon!

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CHILDREN OF UHURU

Let’s picket these walkways of oppression
a human chain against tyrants.
In the cold
in the rain.
that our children shall live on Uhuru Street.
But who shall lead the chorus of this new song.
For the choir master died today!

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GIVE ME YOUR PRINCEHOOD

(For Bala Usman)

I want to be a prince!
Give me your prince hood
the one you gave up
to dine with paupers.
but accept my dirge
for you gave up your princely robe,
and shun the Emir’s court
and prostrating courtiers
‘May your reign be long’.
and for that i shall sing for you
‘May Allah rest your soul’.
Now that you are no more
I beseech you to give me your princehood,
You prince of the paupers.

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ATIKA
(for I.B. Garba)

Poets do not fall in love
love flows in them.
Amongst the brook of books
your love found its course
meandering among poems
until it became a line
a verse
a poem
Then it became you
The new poem that flows in the poet.

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(c) Al-kasim Abdulkadir