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i would write how my mother

grew a garden of rose flowers

how she turned the sands in

Mallam Joda into mud houses.

under the sheets

that year i was fifteen

when i saw my friend’s body

melting inside the waters of Ramin Tifa.

i would write about Sabon Gari

who swore never to answer

a boy who doesn’t know how

to call a knife.

inside a standing mirror in Sabon Layi

i saw a boy running to collect bullets

for his friend to shoot his stars into

the galaxies of women.

i saw homeless children

roaming the streets of Doruwa

without knowing which penis

seduced their mother.

under the Mayo Gwoi bridge

a boy told his friend that –

it takes only 2 minutes

to catch a fish, roast it & then

eat it.

i saw 12 boys in Jekada Fari

drawing their names between

the thighs of a young girl.

somewhere at Taraba Motel

a man with a belly bulge, told a girl

to swallow every drop of his ice cream

& after that – he would paint her face

with naira notes.

i saw a boy in Nyamu Sala

breaking his fast with his

brother’s juice during Ramadan.

This guest article was submitted by Yahuza Abdulkadir.

If I’ll be asked to choose between poetry and a beautiful lady, I’ll choose poetry over and over again.

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