My Mother Is Praying Poem by Babalola Jubril

In the holy places,
Where no dirties exist,
Clean and beautiful house of God,
Transparent doors like the face of the sky,
made with perforated woods,

My mother is praying,
kneeling in front of her Lord,
In the face of the lord,
She spits her her words,
She knows the path to quick grant,
The way to her lord,

Raising her hands in the air,
Feel the emptiness, weightlessness,
The loads of the prayer,
It's been weighed,
Taking it off her hand,
Through fingers with little efforts,

She said walk on the land my son,
Fly into the sky with your wings spread wider,
Your wishes is granted,
Your dreams will come true,
Because I have prayed to the lord,
And he has answered my prayers.