Tell them to remember this country: Its broken body.
The sketches of tears that litter everywhere.
& if at all the world craves to sing my name
Tell them to echo the names of boys covered
with leaves. Tell them to scribble the names of girls
raped till their thighs bled, till their cries
vanished in the wind of silence.
& if at all the world carves me a plaque
Remember to tell them about unbuilt monuments
for people devoured by earthquake, people left
with shattered hearts, people buried like
dead dogs, like the bits of a broken glass.
Happy Independence Day to Nigeria. Source: www.oanweb.org
Remember to tell them about lives limping in
the fire that leaks the rusty roof of this country.
& if at all my song tickles your ears
Remember the woman next door,
the one clutching the photograph of her
bombed son. Remember the man waiting to
explore a dumpster for wastes.
Remember this country and its fate,
its history full of lengthy dirges.
& if at all tomorrow comes with laughter
breaking the tunnels of our throats
Remember the poet that
remembers this country.
P.S.: This is for a sober reflection as the most populous black nation in the world, Nigeria celebrates 55 years of Independence.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His poems have appeared in Connotation Press, Heart Online Journal, Jalada, Saraba, Sentinel, African Writers, New Black Magazine, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere. He believes writing is an act of healing, an art that transcends the world, that survives every death.
quiver as we gather around my mother, watching her
mumble voiceless aches.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His poems have appeared in Connotation Press, Heart Online Journal, Jalada, Saraba, Sentinel, African Writers, New Black Magazine, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere. He believes writing is an act of healing, an art that transcends the world, that survives every death.
The road to Nigeria is littered
with bones of those who protest,
those who splash spittle on the
faces of our generals,
those who lock their doors
and bid farewell to their relatives.
The road to Nigeria is littered
with skulls of innocent masses,
bodies of men whose wives curse
their murderers every night.
Zuma, the rock of Nigeria
The road to Nigeria is full of Soldiers
who test the potent of every bullet
by burying them in our bellies.
The road to Nigeria is full of blind seers,
greedy polithievesmen with lips carved
with lies.
The road to Nigeria is full of citizens
who die as they wait for a blurry
tomorrow.
RASAQ MALIK
About the Author
Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan. His poems have appeared in online literary journals and magazines. He is presently awaiting the publication of his debut poetry collection.
We see bullets of different shapes,
houses without walls, streets bereft
of feet, trees burdened with swollen
bodies, a field of corpses. bedsheets
stained with blood of those whose
spirits roam in the air.
What we see
We see the sky garnished with darkness,
children calling their parents’ names
with tears dotting their faces.
We see the holes in the moon,
the dirges in the songs of the
birds that howl as we leave to
mourn our beloveds.
RASAQ MALIK
About the Author
Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan. His poems have appeared in online literary journals and magazines. He is presently awaiting the publication of his debut poetry collection.
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