By Muhammed Sanni Olowonjoyin
Sometimes, I want to say that there’s a holocaust
Going on in this place & there’s a hand tilting
A country into an inferno. Which means the wishes in an
Anthem aren’t finding the ears of God.
There are days I wake to the broken voices
Of mothers' bullets unpaired from their children after
The radio autotunes into threnodies.
Two policemen become dust to the bullets
Of known gunmen
A market is set ablaze by the wands of
A country is becoming a morgue for dreams
See, here, burying a gun under your pillow
In a one-eyed sleep cannot furl your skin to safety &
Even prayers are mere wishes, meaning your
Next hymn can be followed by the whistles of the
Angel of death, before your house becomes a gathering
For the next Janazah and awakening of hashtags.
I don’t know how to say that this place has been forsaken
Without the urge to pluck prayers from my lungs and
Chew them until my teeth ache. & that is the least I
Can do before flaming into clinkers.
Muhammed Olowonjoyin, TPC III, studies Biochemistry at the University of Ilorin. He was third runner-up in the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize (2022) and was named Honorable Mention in the Kreative Diadem Poetry Contest (2022).
His poems have been published/forthcoming in Stanchion, Quarter After Eight, Brittle Paper, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Aôthen Magazine, The Shallow Tales Review, Acropolis Journal, The Decadent Review, and elsewhere. In addition, he reads poetry for The Dodge Magazine.