ON RHYMES

my mother asked me why I don’t write in rhymes. i said:

“have you watched your son in that cage underground move

free?”

i don’t mean to make her cry, but I do not want what

killed my brother to outlive me. look, being a Palestinian

is beautiful. the way the child under the rubble

sings of flowers she plucked yesterday — on her father’s tomb.

if all flowers be wildflowers, I’ll plant them on my tongue. say it is

a way to send your prayers to God.

Look, every family here has a way of

mourning their dead. some plant them lilies.

I plant mine my father’s existence in the afterlife.

i wonder, if by every day we honor every one child who bombs have

shattered, will we have years to smell of their dust?

as if we are not dust — the one God mold into us. only that they shed

theirs way too early.

i asked my mother, should i then write in rhymes. she said:

“do not

write into what will kill you.”

i picked up my brother’s portrait and threw it into

the fire — the way of telling God i want to live.

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Tajudeen Muadh is a poet from Osun State, whose works have been featured in Trollbreath Magazine, Brazenhead Review, Strange Horizons, Eco Punk Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. Find him on X @tajudeenmuadh01.