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“ life is not measured by how many breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. “ — Maya Angelou

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Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Every breath we take, is a privilege. Every. Single. One. Each one, a simple, understated salute to living.

I just took twelve breaths in the last minute, yes — I counted them.

*tips hat to the Universe*

Losing your breath

Almost twelve years ago, I stood at my mothers bedside in the hospital — alongside my siblings. It was a heart attack in the ambulance the night before, that brought us there. The doctors had managed to shock her heart back to beating again, but she remained unconscious. She never woke up.

That night, I watched her breaths slow right down — to the very last one. …


Poetry

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Photo by Adam Wilson on Unsplash

The world is on fire.
You see it, I see it, all around —
we see the burning flames.
Yet, the same 20/20 vision fails time and time again —
to see injustice being served up when a Black woman is killed by unfriendly fire-power.
Now, we the people, her people, her village —
still do not rest, or know justice until it is fully applied.
We remain restless as we #sayhername.

Tell me, what does justice look like to you today?
The world is on fire.
This seems right to me.
I stay ready for the gut punches, but not desensitised to the pain.
In a world in love with war, death, corruption and destruction.
In every teachable moment, humans just refuse to learn.
Fire, do your thing.
As the world tumbles down,
let it fall — let it burn.


Poetry

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Photo by Mignon Hemsley on Unsplash

what a time to try and be brave,
what a time to still dream,
when the cracks in the ground gape showing no mercy —
and the sky is on fire and our spirits are breaking

my bones are jagged edges,
my flesh layered in memories,
skin stitched in stories —
scars and dust trails woven in like a tapestry

I am the Suns kissed flower — its African daisy,
the Moons favoured child,
daughter with a penchant for sin,
derived from the Delta — a Naija, ‘London ting’

as my brothers in diaspora, guérin — a full catalogue of quiet, burning things,
wrapped in flags gold, red, Black and green —
drip like diamonds with pride beautifully glistening,
still rising, we move, striving as we…

About

D Abboh

Hey there I'm D. Writer/Poet/Mother - I know a little Tai Chi, but my Kung Fu is weak - beautifully flawed Email:dabboh76@outlook.com

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