by Tijjani Grema
I can feel my bones hissing with anger.
My heart slowing, on the verge of fear.
My soul parking itself to flee.
Oh! I think am dying.
The underworld is calling in a whisper,
but my ears have gone deaf.
I don't want to go to there,
but there is no room for a soul of mine to remain in this world.
A whisper again,
this time it is my relatives and friends.
Calling in a loud tone, it makes my dead ears came back to life.
I turned and saw, but they were all lying in their graves.
I missed them, but I don't want to be with them.
Death lies before us like the shadow of the moon.
My time is yet to arrive,
but the poor soul has already packed itself.
The soul of the rich and the poor
like to linger in this world,
but death is inevitable.
Every soul shall taste death.