Cry Out Poem by Isiaq Nasirdeen Tinuola

I am a poet, struggling for my fame
But my Sunni beliefs hold me back, it's such a shame
My verses flow like a river in spring
But my identity is a barrier to everything

I try to blend in with the poets of the age
But they see me as an outcast, a different page
My words are like pearls, precious and rare
But for the cultists, it's like I am not even there

They say poetry must be free from any creed
But in reality, they follow their own breed
They preach about freedom of expression and art
Yet shun me away, like I have no part

My poetry is a reflection of my soul
But to the cultists, it's like an empty hole
I personify my struggles, my dreams, my fears
But to them, it's just a Sunni's tears.

So, I sit and ponder, why I bother to create
When my identity bars me from joining the great
But then I realize, my poetry is my pride
And I won't let it die, no matter how hard they tried.

For my words are symbols of my beliefs
And my metaphors are the strength that relieves
My heart of the pain caused by their sarcasm
But my poetry still stands, a testimony of my enthusiasm.