Rebirth
By Tukur Ridwan
Ever since I listened to the dark genie
Which floated on the back of my head,
Autumn kept falling on me.
Like scales tearing off a cobra's body.
This backyard tree sheds its leaves
That held me in the sterile soil of stagnation.
I left my strained echoes and blurred
Reflection in the bin. I took out the trash
That this malignant shadow had used
To bottle me in its possession.
How will I break free if I still answer
The name you call me?
I christened myself with a pseudonym
Since this rebirth— greening with life.
I now soar to the smiling sun
On this funeral of my cracked voice—
Buried in the air to cremate my exhales.
Spring is my throat, grooming
A new voice for different spells and
M a n i f e s t a t i o n.
Tukur Ridwan (He/Him) writes from Lagos, Nigeria. Shortlisted in the Bridgitte James Poetry Competition (2025) and the Eriata Oribhabor Poetry Prize (2020), his works also appear in Afrocritik, Kelp Journal, ArtisansQuill, The African Writers Magazine, Kalahari Review, Cordite Poetry Review, and elsewhere. He won the Brigitte Poirson Monthly Poetry Contest (March 2018), authored A Boy's Tears on Earth's Tongue (Authorpedia, 2019), and The Forgiveness Series (Ghost City Press, 2022). He loves black tea, sometimes coffee. Twitter/IG @Oreal2kur