Feb 16, 20212 min readPedalling to Heaven: The Poetry of Abu BakrUpdated: Feb 17, 2021by Abu Bakr Graphic: Georgia Preece Pedalling to Heaven for Self-isolationAfter the night my grandma’s daughter was buffedin earth. ‘Ma gave ears to walls and sowed her voicein them. no one knows how long she wringed silenceby the neck until a dialect towered from its mouthShe wedges between the hugs of armchairs – her handsflailing like cities where women bury grief between breastbones.the color the sun undresses the sky with will always be darkin her eyes & words to her ears run off like rain on hilltops‘Ma speaks with her whole body without making a sound:holding a fist to her mouth means stop speaking of the undeadher indexes tongue kissing says my near end smells like peaceshe says every prayer with her middle fingers tickling the groundher arms x-ed on her chest says I’m breaking into loneliness, againshe pedals an imaginary bicycle in the air to say I’m going to heaven for self-isolationEar pressed to a wooden door, I listen to the calmnessof her sobbing. My teeth dig my index to shroudthe betrayal of my tears. Holding her hand sometimesis where I hear a memory calling her body home Self-Portrait with BlindfoldsTo every city serenity opens itself; I open with it in my headThe weight of the quietude I yearn leaves my body unletteredIn my thoughts, a boy asks for a poem to cloak his [ ]I ask the night to cover my [ ] ; the sky closes its earsTo this, I gloss my lips with every prayer I’ve drowned in booksAt night, silence hangs on street walls like bats on oak branchesOutside, faces behind vizards are darkening into cloudless night skiesI lay in bed all day like hugs from strangers will leave an RIP in my ribcageThis is the ninetieth time I’ve thought of stepping out today but didn’tHere, the world feels less like a forest leaning into an infernoOn TV, an unmasked woman hugs the ground like it’s the ghost of her husbandEveryone clutches their mouth as if to stop the world from tumbling into its endI pull a blindfold to my eyes and the world spins to this liberationThrough the blinds, the city’s eyes close into a dream; I sleep with it
by Abu Bakr Graphic: Georgia Preece Pedalling to Heaven for Self-isolationAfter the night my grandma’s daughter was buffedin earth. ‘Ma gave ears to walls and sowed her voicein them. no one knows how long she wringed silenceby the neck until a dialect towered from its mouthShe wedges between the hugs of armchairs – her handsflailing like cities where women bury grief between breastbones.the color the sun undresses the sky with will always be darkin her eyes & words to her ears run off like rain on hilltops‘Ma speaks with her whole body without making a sound:holding a fist to her mouth means stop speaking of the undeadher indexes tongue kissing says my near end smells like peaceshe says every prayer with her middle fingers tickling the groundher arms x-ed on her chest says I’m breaking into loneliness, againshe pedals an imaginary bicycle in the air to say I’m going to heaven for self-isolationEar pressed to a wooden door, I listen to the calmnessof her sobbing. My teeth dig my index to shroudthe betrayal of my tears. Holding her hand sometimesis where I hear a memory calling her body home Self-Portrait with BlindfoldsTo every city serenity opens itself; I open with it in my headThe weight of the quietude I yearn leaves my body unletteredIn my thoughts, a boy asks for a poem to cloak his [ ]I ask the night to cover my [ ] ; the sky closes its earsTo this, I gloss my lips with every prayer I’ve drowned in booksAt night, silence hangs on street walls like bats on oak branchesOutside, faces behind vizards are darkening into cloudless night skiesI lay in bed all day like hugs from strangers will leave an RIP in my ribcageThis is the ninetieth time I’ve thought of stepping out today but didn’tHere, the world feels less like a forest leaning into an infernoOn TV, an unmasked woman hugs the ground like it’s the ghost of her husbandEveryone clutches their mouth as if to stop the world from tumbling into its endI pull a blindfold to my eyes and the world spins to this liberationThrough the blinds, the city’s eyes close into a dream; I sleep with it