The Tears Of My Poetry1 Poem by Abubakar Abdulkadir

These tears pinched from my poetry shall never slack;
They are the tears of roses rooted in black bricks,
They are the tears against the laughters of leeches
Flaunting kegs of brewed blood,
They are the tears of calm homesteads stirred
With cooked stones and cups of hell.

They are the tears in the cadences of parents when they preach,
'Children, do not wait where you find flavour,
The air there smell of bomb and gun powder.'
They are the tears that measures the torture of women
Stripped naked to life's heavyweight punches,
And of children whose dreams were embalmed in trays hawking satchet water.

They are the tears of traders canvassing emptiness
In markets where remains rot in rude corners,
They are the tears of pupils whose rhymes
Were robbed by the wails of passers-by,
And of the grey-haired mourning their sunlit labour.

These tears had been bribed with flavours
But shan't cease tasting like burnt fleshes,
It has been stretched for earth's walls
But shall never slack.