Tonight, the sky is pale yellow like the skin of a mourning mother. Tonight, the night is dark, darker than erstwhile nights, the crickets chirp—enfolded in the shawl of silence. Tonight, our mouths sing threnody like a serenade, tonight we remember men—cloaked in death's arm while battling inequity, tonight we light candles, burn them with incense from the censer of memories. Tonight, we wear grief as velvet, our eyes red with remorse, heads heavy with memories of departed souls. Tonight we write for men, for women, for boy child, for girl child who faded like dust from the face of earth tugging injustice.
Abdulmueed is from Nigeria. He’s an avid reader, a staunch writer and lover of nature.
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