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mixture - a cauldron of cackling cacodemons. winding in the eddy of a disembodied funnel, like a solitary column of the welkin, bent on whirling me into oneness… some alien destination. & do not think i flounder. i know this eventual oneness is my grief & i cup my hands around it. neck-deep - the mire yet yielding and yielding around me. & my notes, dying, can feed no more on my breath than yours. this serpent, this beast is my grief, i know. &, will-less, i travel its devious path; snaking into a sunless horizon & arched over by a colourless rainbow of promiscuous emotions from other travelers of their own peculiar paths. wraith - I spook the mausoleum of a life lost; of cold dreams visiting me in spectres of wraithlike nightmares; but suppose not that I shudder when i see the icy talons of Death clawing at my carcass therein. coward - i hope this mother bird will not snarl at me, when i cannot defy the piping calls of the eagle; when she opens her heart and i see only a requiem of regrets. i am not a failure but a fluid of an anti-dirge. still in search of the path that runs into the sun
Mohammed Taoheed is a poet and freelance journalist affiliated with the Foundation for Investigative Journalism (FIJ Nigeria). Based in Northwest Nigeria, Mohammed enjoys reading books when he’s not engaged in research and shares his thoughts on Twitter via @MOTofMedia.
