Before the hunching mosque

under the burnoosed moon,

And before the chattering

pigweeds and brambles,

The silhouette attaches itself

to a voice

Humming past tatterdemalion

houses, foundries and kilns.

Strapped with megaphone, approaching

in the dark.

“Give up your life or go to hell!”,   

                            He cried at the moon,

Approaching.

Venus’s glittering

cut across the mullion.

In our bedrooms before fajr,

and muezzins still snoring.

A one-man army to crucify

What’s left of us in our sleep.

…

Visar writes from Lagos. Author of Daylight (2018) on Ghost City Press. His works have  either appeared or are soon appearing on Mojave heart Press, Selcouth Station, Marias at Sampaguitas, Riggwelter journal, Picaroon Poetry, Nightingale & Sparrow, Agbowo,  Kalahari review, African Writer, the Gerald Kraak Award Anthology, Amethyst Review, 20.35 Africa Journal etc.