Song

by Amina Akinola

_{Mywhat are the languages between your tongue and lip? For me,
I chant nothing but glory. grace
like the touch of God. I am buried in its warmth. In another world, my father dances
to the cries of his unborn, he says:
I am the child. the precious thing
that could rip a womb, the wildest thing
that could stay between prayers. See, my friend, I’ll not pick dead worms. the birds that refuse to sing,
I’ll not rupture their vocals. I’ll sing myself to the peak where blessing is kind. heart swings freely, song
of thanks. wild and carefree. I’ll savour my moments. I’ll sing my song, one and all, sing.}

^{Image by Sudipta on Pexels}