(For the dead bullet man) 


My fate has  been  written as a dirge

on the  scrotum of a  bull  that keep 

dangling, front,  back and sideways

Like  it would  fall  anytime  soon. 
A minute silence isn’t enough for the man,  

who left  home like a wayfarer,  to tread

the path that leads to death, where skulls 

are the fly-overs that bridge the river filled 

with the bloods of his own dead siblings. 
Anike, the life of a man is that bullet,  

Fired from a rigid hand into the space, 

Unable to undo, nor rewind back in time, 

Until it gets to it targeted “deathi-nation”. 
Anike, today I have written my existence 

On the stars for you to gaze them at night, 

When you no longer see my face again &

they become the photos that bear my image. 
Anike, Today I have written my name, on the bark

of the trees we sat under to tickle each other, 

for the branches to dance as the leaves sing 

Our favorite songs when my voice is no more. 
Anike, remember me,  when I become 

The silhouette of a lover on the skyline, 

That died untimely on the battle field, 

Now kissing the lip of the setting sun. 
Anike, when I wallow up into the clouds, 

Like the huge flames from a burning forest, 

Disobeying gravity & all the physical laws, 

To become immortal  like the celestial beings. 
Anike, if I die on this route of “free-doom”, 

Bury me in the grave of your heart forever, 

A minute silence isn’t just enough for me, 

So remember me always when I’m gone.
©® Jamiu Ahmed

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