PoetryWorld Literature

My Greatest Opponent – Heart Touching Poems from Nigeria

A young poet Right Dwriter shares his three poems

I am the wounded eagle,

Shot by the hunter,

Who doesn’t want to see me

Flying so high in the sky.

Nigerian Poet Abdulrazak - Right Dwriter Sindh Courier
Right Dwriter

Stefania Miola, eminent writer and poetess from Italy, who contributes regularly to Sindh Courier, introduces Abdulrazak Danladi, a young poet from Nigeria, who writes with pen name Right Dwriter.  

My Greatest Opponent

With smiling face, he lurks behind

Defiantly staring at me

Ready to pull me by the collar,

If I decide to leap.


I am the wounded eagle,

Shot by the hunter,

Who doesn’t want to see me

Flying so high in the sky.


The blissful comfort I find myself,

The sheltering abode of darkness meant to see me stagnant,

The illusions of the belief that I would be great even if I do nothing,

The sweet dreams that beacons when your house burns.


A Poem for Poets

To all the poets across the globe, this poem I dedicate,

To all our fallen roses who gave up because their dark shadows dominate,

And to all the warriors of the pen, trying so hard to germinate,

The day has come for us to celebrate,

Because we have stood so strong in this bizarre world we try to decorate


Fallen roses! Do not hesitate the eminence of your name

You choose to navigate to the afterlife but then we blame

Because your dark arts suffocate not just you alone, but your loved ones all the same

You should have generate beautiful vibes that would illuminate all and keep our miseries lame

But then you abdicate and we all felt damn!


Today we extricate ourselves from the pains we feel

And jubilate this world poetry day with sweets

In this lines I seek to compensate all the poets who weep

Your craft sometimes might complicate your heart and make you bleed

So it is time for us to formulate and concentrate on working to innovate new lines that would elevate and levitate our hearts away from depression. Beautiful lines that would liberate our imprisoned happiness so that we can all smile again


You Survived

The tricky sun would hide itself behind the cloud with the shape of Trojan horse to see how foolishly happy you’ll be thinking God has listened to your heart’s wishes and brought you shade, and then it comes out of its hiding more hotter, beaming with smile for succeeding in fooling you.

Complaining ungrateful waiters in restaurants, if only they knew it is blocks as hard and heavy as a big piece of rock stuck in the earth that id been ordered in your own place.

Boss would make you do works you’ve never done before. He calls your name to move blocks in, until the thousands blocks finishes and then he orders you to join his boys who bring in the mixed cement and gravels, to make the work faster. Boss is boss because he had many boys. Boss is boss because only he wears a hat. Boss is boss because the house plan dangles in his back pocket when he works. Boss would make you remember the story Grandpa tells you about the colonial Masters who uses black men to work in the plantations. Though the story is different but the work and pressure is exactly the same.

The sun would stay high up in the sky, laughing at you each time you gobbled water and each time you want to rest for some few minutes, boss calls you again. The work keeps going. Your body grow sore. Your veins pulls out as if about to cut. Your stomach becomes a black hole, whatever goes in disappear. Your head would begin to ache like a hammer fell on it. The clock would begin to whistle, it’ll go on break for a while. And then the moment comes when the sun gets bored and leave. At last the end has come for the day’s heavy work.

Boss would call to ask you how much you’d like to have, not because he wants to do you a favor but to find this trace of pains in your voice. Do not answer. It is a mockery. Boss only pays what he wishes. Everyone knows that about him. They’d bet you’ll die of pains. Boss would bet you wouldn’t return and they’ll all laugh if you fails to come the next day.

You’d come home tired but happy. Spending every little you get with those you love happily. Then at night you’ll pay the price. All the stress would visit you, in the form of a huge blacksmith with a shovel, smashing you at every part of your body to pulp. You’d be helpless when he hits you. And then you’d wake up the next day feeling crushed, like a praying mantis stepped upon by a farmer sprinkling pesticide on his farmland, wearing a boot. That pain is victory. You felt it because you survived.


Stefania Miola - Sindh CourierStefania Miola is an eminent Poetess, Art Critic and Journalist from Italy. Since 2015, her three books have been published – “One sky – the only true one”, “Violets in the Desert” and “The scent of the white rabbit”. All books are awarded nationally and internationally. Her several poems are present in anthologies of various publishing houses. 

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