"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
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