Written by Amina Akinola

how do i sing songs of praise,when i am stuck between space finding a suitable language to define

the demon that eats my testicles all the way.i envision the quest for truth

to tell the gravity that sit in my sternum,

when others cling to their beloved at night.

the truth is,i am a captive of griefs a metaphor cannot unveil.for sometimes

all a metaphor does is sharpen grief

or give it a new name.

here i am stuck,trying to forget the tumor that stained my albumin.

i am married to an illness that flours my

tongue with sour rhymes.and the truth is

i want to air a simple hallelujah from the

depth of my heart,slashing all my maladies away.

i want to praise the Lord with new poems of sweet metaphors.