My prayers,
you are stuck on the ceiling board.
I look up, intently at the white rectangles
eyeing the invisible patterns of my earnest supplications;
that never quite made it past my rooftop.
My prayers,
why are you not getting past the ceiling board?
Is it because in the midst of saying it
I was thinking what sauce I must make for the day
would meatballs or fried chicken
appeal more to my hungry fold?
My prayers,
why do you fail to soar
could it be that the landlords brick and mortar
are far too hard and impenetrable?
I must have a word with him
‘cos he needs to use heaven proof material.
My prayers,
once you leave the space in my heart
do you roam the void trying to fill the vacuum
or do you travel faster than the light of speed
heaven bound where Angels receive you
then file you away in ‘to do files’?
My prayers,
I have no idea where you go
no do I truly know where heaven is,
but what I know is that at some point in time
each word of prayer I ever offered
will be waiting there to meet with me.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
a cooking pot and twisted tales 
So beautiful 👌👌
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Thank you
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Life is a riddle. Prayers or no prayers, life is a riddle.
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Indeed it is a riddle.
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A maze map with no exit, but only an attempt to understanding the curling, spiraling, and spinning patterns within.
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Beautiful poem. I feel sometimes prayers are answered in ways we never expected.
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Love this poem, where do the prayers all go, some seem to get stuck somewhere or perhaps things are not right so the time to answer them has to wait. Wait seems to be the answer.
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