And I came from a moon immature

To serenade the term of complete circle

Under my robe, did I kept, a dangling hope

To cream thy bodies in illusion and hope

As I grow mature under the heart intense

Did I unleashed my foetus of growing same

Had I not been stricken by arrows of circumference

I would have stayed more than I am now

I am leaving to never be seen again in your world

Yet, you will and may still count your woes

Not by the names of the subject but by mine

Even in centuries yet undrawn by imagination

And to whose feather strucks high than the Eagle

While I was a dancer on the naked of calenders

Will my name be remembered on painted platers

And for whose flames danced unlit, shall I console

Nay! Would I return, but my unborn adult shall do

An arrow sharper than I held, will he comes by

Struck hard, for arrows stab when not used

Farewell, I am far departing into the space

Not far gone, to never be again by breath

only to change my dress of tattered shadow


About the author

Bada Yusuf Amoo

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