For Things that Don’t Become Part of Us by Amao Williams Praise


there are things stamping their feet

on the tip of our tongues,

they say loss is another name for vacuum

& sometimes we hold nothing out of teary dirges

because our home now wears the skin of caskets –


on the dining table, we miss a song that sounds

like the softness of streams, my brother said

it heals him from nightmares


on the dining table, we miss a voice

that cracks the home into particles of laughter,

it shadows us from the war that birthed scars

on our foreheads


on the dining table, we miss a silence

that drapes us into folds of meditations,

it makes us see things that sketched us into burnt maps


we miss the home that held us like classical rhythms;

but now, we hold things that shrink us into hurts & rustled leaves,

we hold things that don’t become part of us

like – old monochromic photographs,

– post letters,

– lovers’ flowers &

– bodies of sand

for these things dwell in

– burial grounds,

– battle grounds,

– bomb blast,

– tears,

– flames &

– in our heads.




Amao Williams Praise Praise (willipraise) is a poet, freelancer, photographer and a phlegmatic. He is a final year student, studying Physiology in Osun State University. His works have appeared on Words Rhymes and Rhythm, PoetryPulse, Praxis Magazine, Inspired Magazine and on several other online platforms. He lives and writes from Lagos, Nigeria

1 Comment

  • John Chizoba Vincent October 18, 2018 at 7:35 pm

    Great poems here. Great reading through your lines.


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