Prayer| POETRY

I make a tongue brimmed with supplications
in this poem.
Here in this body, legions of privations have overstayed
so it's time I whipped them out into the swine
with my conflagrating tongue.
Let my goodness have the semblance of the air
so when it comes, no barricade will antagonize.
Last night, I heard the radio man say
the man who fed the mendicants lost his feet in the whirlwind
and today, one mendicant charred his breath with a sturdy rope.
Eludumare, hold the feet of my benefactor like you hold earth,
cast a shawl of sleep on his eyes when the road is thirsty for blood.
Let me exit this poem with veseels of riches, ase!