Smoky Prayer
“Air pollution kills an estimated seven million people worldwide every year” — World Health Organization (WHO)

May the air be fresh.
When we kneel & pray, may we not have cancer for an answer.
&, if we must burn for God, may the flames not produce gases
that'll go up to profane the Lord's name.
May the flame not claim the innocence of his holy handmade.
May we not see the smog & may the smog not see us.
May we not light the cigarette for fun, set up a bonfire, & cause
the sun to lose its cool.
May we not become fools & bite the hand that feeds us.
May the trees be swayed by the breeze
but not cease having a reason to help us grab the poison.
Pardon me. I am burning incense to make these petitions.
I don't know if it makes sense
but I hope the ozone layer steps aside a little
Allow the smell of this prayer
to fill the noble nose of God.
Amen.

 
Catholic Hymn Book, No. 266
—	After Michael Imossan

lord, you know I have once wielded the frying pan
as a sword to protect mother nature— like
the time a fat pigeon laid two eggs by our window
& the next-door neighbour lit his
gas-cylinder; saying, I wan fry am.*
twice, I gave granny's garden a glass of water to 
drink, & twice, shared my lunch with stray dogs—
who knows, they could be angels whom the 
menace of men made unfortunate.
see my hands, I never cut the flowers off their 
buds for no reason, nor allow the boys & girls 
living a stone's throw,
to throw stones at the poor mango trees. yesterday,
when those boys from downtown strolled by
with two ropes of red crabs running over their necks,
i bought them all & let them loose. for to trap the creator's 
creation is to trap the creator himself. 
today, inside the cathedral, I sit at the right pew, my 
lips devoutly murmuring hymn 266
as reparation for 
the sinful hands of those who, after gulping down 
sachet water, fling it to the road— even the potholes 
open their mouths in astonishment.
for
the naive minds who gingerly empty the waste bin
into the mouth of the flood— they say the waters will 
carry it away. far away. 
for
the filthy things they force the sea to swallow.
for 
the hapless little fish.
the sad squid.
dolorous dolphins.
lonely lobsters & scared crayfish 
as they wallow, watching polypropylenes
rotten tomatoes, & giant faeces— bandits
hijack their homeland.


*I wan fry am: Nigerian-pidgin English, meaning, "I want to fry it."

 
To Air Is Human
“The world (earth), untouched, is beautiful. ” — Samuel Adeyemi

An alien I met the other day asked me, ‘What's the plan?’
But I confessed, I am tired of writing about my planet.
If it is not the man's axe slicing the arms of a tree by the day
& sacrificing it to the cooking pot at night,
It is his car wearing the earth with dreadful colognes.
To air is human, & to forgive is plant. The chimney brings
the sky & everything that smiles within it to its knees.
The pawpaw trees offer their roots, shoots, fruits, & leaves
to heal the ills.

Please. Just when I thought it was over, I found myself around
a burning bush
A local hunter, waiting barefooted by the rabbit's hole, gun in
arm, to pray the litter away.
The doe hops out of a secret door, coughing & weeping.
Poor Earth, Poet, of what use are your metaphors in saving me
& my babies?

About the Author:

Alobu Emmanuel (alias Noble Alobu) is an eco-poet and writer whose works often feel like a warm hug. He is the Chief Editor of Napsite Review (a UNILAG campus journal), the Director of Business/Partnership for SOKOKA Traditional Publishing firm, and a creative website developer/designer (powered by Weebly). He was a fellow of the 2023 Sprinng Writing Fellowship. Some of his works are featured in Poetry Sango-ota, Blue Marble Review, Brittle Paper, Poetry Column NND, and HotPot Magazine. “Do the hard things” is one of his philosophies of life. Find him on Twitter @noble_alobu_ .

Feature image by Viktor Talashuk on Unsplash