"After reading 'wormhole ' by Abubakar Sadiq"

And I am eager to sight how the time run with our days

And I've count breeze in the midst of the wind—

But I am sorry to sight my father's hands as (two)

Dragons; One girting with the past

While the other one is fisting

The future at a ceremony.

If my mother would tie her feathers on my tongue

Then I would've flown to drew her heart on walls of the sky

And I would've replants her words

In the same farm—

My father would met my flower

Combing her hairs—once again.

Published on January 1st, 2023