Poems by Samson Abanni

Poems by Samson Abanni



Oh Dean of light.
You who deem deeds wrong or right.
This prayer is not to look with with doubts
a deal already done, just because I’m in my night.
But you and I know that even wrongs have rights.
So treat this tears on my cheeks as fresh water
from the blood released from a heart pierced.

I’m like the hissing song of a snail with a broken shell, when that shell is all it has.
I’m Mary your handmaid: the mother of the boy-
whom they have just pierced.
They call him Savior but I call him son.
So if by any means you ‘re at peace with his pain, recall that I am not God- so I won’t understand.

Though he is a gift promised to be re-taken.
Though before he was born we observed a minute silence for his death,
I never considered him an ‘acting son’ or loved him with left-over love.
I heard the prophecies but I was a mother who had a son.
So who will blame me if I had dreams?
Ofcourse I know..I remember how he came
but I dared to call him son.

And as I looked into his wide white eyes
I still see my first flower Joseph blessed with a kiss.
For this boy is my Adam, my very first!
So when those thorns went into his head,
I asked the earth if Iit could stop and drop me
my heart still bleed behind the breasts with which he was nursed.

Now among the hot ashes of Golgotha
I search for strips of his blood stained dress.
And the thorns and the spear that went in last when he still had warmth.
I’m pouring earth on each patch where a splash of his blessed blood touched.
The bleats of the sheep meant for an eternal sacrifice are now shrapnels on a young mother’s heart.
I have watched every episode of his service for sin and how I wish I can rejoice with all the earth.
But every breathe I now draw is illegal,
because for me life has moved on!



The night gets so cold that the stars all go inside.
But the moon will always stay behind.
And I will tiptoe to the edge of reality and reach out to it.
And through the silvered glass of my imagination
our hands will meet.
It will smile and disturb the peace of earth’s aquarium,
with its eight billion fishes, already in bed.
I will then wander to the microphone,
where announcements are made to all galaxies.
Then observe the footprints of a thousand souls,
As they approach that point were two roads diverge,
to two different fates.

The night gets so cold that my logic and faith sit side by side. For warmth.
And From the mix of their exhaled air, I find unity.
And i realise that there are no problems anywhere. Only unanswered questions.
But here in earth’s aquarium there’s so much noise,
because one can never know the extent of what one does not know.
None has a map of his ignorance.
And the train of life never waits
And who will blame it,
since it has an eternity to cover.



How many memories has a ten year old made,
Because this little boy won’t have the chance to make more.
How many things has a ten year old boy seen.
Because this boy before me is about to stop seeing.
He’s going blind and there’s nothing we can be done about it.
So we are preparing him for blindness,
for a cold unending night.
And he’s just ten.

The doctor had said his dad brought him late.
That you don’t wait for ten years to put out a fire.
The man was poor so he made hope his first option.
Now the page where light is written before being converted to meaning, has been irreversibly soiled.
The boy listened carefully but I know he didnt understand.
Because he smiled and continued playing with his hands.

Black,chubby and handsome in his dirty shorts.
As we explained to his dad the funeral of his sight.
He smiled again at me and I smiled back.
I wanted to add to his stock of beautiful memories .
I wanted to donate artwork to a museum that has been banned from taking more.
“Open your eyes, take pictures of everything and save” I had felt like telling him.
Then I raised my eyes to see what he will miss.
And my eyes watered.
How will one describe to a blind the shades of peace on a face in love?
Or put into words, the psalms in the smile of a newborn child.
Or the glow in a bride’s eyes that moment,
she says “I do”
How does one prepare a child to miss living?
How does one prepare him for blindness?

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