Protest is haram, said the Imam
at the mosque I prayed jumu’at.
Lord, what is with the clerics in
my country & prostituting for
the politicians burning us alive?
How much death is enough for
us to hit the street & beg Allaah
to forgive us later?
The sanctity of the Muslims,
their wealth, and their blood is
greater than that of the Ka’bah.
—Prophet Muhammad
In my father’s village in Niger,
they observe more janaza than
compulsory salāt—because
their podunk is the arena
the bandits test their
shooting prowess.
Nobody can convince me that
this country isn’t cursed.
Hunger walks around begging
for alms amid poor folks.
Recently, kidnappers imposed a
tax on the soul of every human in
the village I reside. We created
a piggybank to store every
penny we get—lest they make our
heads fly. No one in this country
reports kidnapping any longer.
How do you report a government
to itself? It isn’t our fault that we
call this organized crime.
I sent my friend a link to a job
opening, & he sent me a laughing
emoji. When I sent back a voice
note armed with insults, he said
the only form he fills these days is
that of asylum. We call this place
our motherland, but what sort of a
mother thirsts for her children’s blood?
Abduljalal Musa Aliyu is a school teacher and poet. He writes from Zaria, Nigeria. He is the author of Encyclopedia of Dolour (Chestnut Review, 2024). His work appears or is forthcoming in Chestnut Review, Vast Chasm Magazine, Brittle Paper, adda, Efiko, 3 of Cups anthology and elsewhere.
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