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Al-Qassim Abdulsalam

Al-Qassim Abdulsalam is a Nigerian poet, born in 1992 in Dekina, a local government area of Kogi State, Nigeria. He is a graduate of Kogi State University and currently lives in Abuja, Nigeria, in the western part of Africa. He calls himself the "Bloody Poet" and has written many poems yet to be published. "MY MENTOR AND I" is a poem he has dedicated to his mentor, Professor Wole Soyinka, for whom he has an undying love.   


In days of my nudity,
when dirt was my little pet,
before I knew myself,
and my guilt ...
have I adored you!

In days of my running nose and addled babbles
when my shabby clothes made me shaggy,
have I kept your portrait,
cleaner than my palm,
above my mat, where my wee eyes can behold
your greys sailing on a long Nile of wisdom.

In days of my blooming roses and tales of witnessing moonlight,
of willie willie and her evil half brothers,
in these days have I adored you.

In the days of my innocence, before the world stole it,
you scribbled the 'Abiku'
in mysterious lines and stanzas;
I read and memorise them like a sacred incantation,
and I wish to be you; like a jealous devil in a luxurious Eden.

I will be you when you submit to the waiting earth;
my hair will be grey and full like a pregnant cloud;
I will be another soyinka from a tribe of the kogi,
where rivers share endless love.

Papa was bend and curve like a crescent moon.
He spoke softly but consistently, like the babble of an adamant baby.
He is wrinkle and veins running all over his crooked body like wiring done by an apprentice electrician;
he is soon ripe for the belly of the obese mother earth, woe unto mother earth!
No flesh to eat this time,
papa died skinny and feeble.


Beauty has a name,
in your eyes the sun sets,
beauty has a heart,
tender like uloma's,
at the beam of your skin the moon smiles,
beauty lives in the east,
far far away,
you twinkle like filaments of minted gold.


Haters are your clan's men who broadcast your failure and whisper your success.

Putting out my candle will not make yours shine any brighter.

I don't cry, I write poems instead. #BloodyPoet
In my blood are pigments of poems,
laced with lines of haemaglobin.

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