title: the praise we sign for the broken bones

praise me not when i a m n o m o r e

on this planet to carry the weight

of your praise atop my twig-like

s h o u l d e r s.

when i a m n o m o r e, search not

from the wilderness of my eyes

the remains of my salty tears of

s o l i t u d e.

you're free to l o v e — or h a t e —

m e

o n l y while

i a m s t i l l, on this earth,

b r e a t h i n g

& delving into the bountiful universe


but when i become n o m o r e

than this piece

of history, that artifact — m y l o n e l y

w o r d s will use their searchlight to

look for you & say,

when you meet them,

“shed not for him your tears

of bitterness-in-disguise

for you didn't care a great deal

about him during his sojourn


Author of Les Larmes d'une Plume Esseulée, Adamu is a multilingual speaker & an emerging poet-writer. He's passionate about journalism & literature.