I wear the skin of my fathers,
and the malaise furled in my
loofs says its last prayer.
My motherland murders me;
mom mothers me, becomes the
wools shaked off by nature,
thrusts my innocence to her
breast—something that forces
me into a flower.
The peek of the sun polishes my hope
gasping at the end of its rope.
Even this sheet is a ghoul,
yet, my feet nibble its rest like
my existence in the mouth of the world.
What keep me alive are what
I can’t leave nor live without.
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About the Poet
Odunjo Azeez is a young Nigerian and a lover of Art. He has his works published in Afrihill, Williwash, The Pen Magazine, and elsewhere.