"The Language Known by Every Flesh and Blood"
This poem begins like a dirge Telling people the certainty of life;
People living for a period of time Before losing way to the Mother Earth's dust Not until eyes depicted through bizarre looks My heart senses an incorrigible sureness of life;
The temporariness of people living on earth Before eventually laying to rest is but a certainty. My eyes are shrouded with substances of reality Verbalizing my status in-between grief and glee. Today, people crowd together like an assembly of students Each carrying hearts filled with indirect thought In silence and grief, a folding of hands and voices takbeer And in silence again, like a slideshow ending, they disappear In what concerns the most of a brief life. Today, I learned, it badly hurts beyond measure Losing your part in life, your blood to the dust of farewell, unplanned. Thus, I question my senses: What if it is my turn to swing in grief To mourn the demise of my parents, To pine for losing something or someone I hold dear? Behold! Death is not a language taught to me by a teacher It is just a language of the world;
Everyone knows it better than any other tone on Earth - Serving food for thought without a remnant of inequality.
Death feeds on every soul aligning a path Commonly, a language of the world Known to every flesh and blood. © Yahuza Usman
Taraba State, Nigeria
