Reading the book of psalm like the
             Smooth and soft lines of poetry.
             Reciting every chapter and verse
                Like my country's anthem.
            Digesting It mysteries like ABC.
            My tongue rushing with scriptural
             Words like that of a psalmist.
           My home poems now turning Into 
                         A psalmody.
           I began sinking and soaking my soul
        Inside the deep oceans of the scriptures
       For I see no reason to wrestle myself out. 
        Darkness always paved way for light 
        Because even the demons knew that 
                  Christ Is my shepherd.
        Mom taught me how to lock myself 
      Inside the dark room, light up my candle, 
         Go down on my kneels and dash my 
              spirit Inside psalm 143.
          'Baba; I bless the days that the book 
                Of psalm was composed'.
©Abdul Nuhu                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    