My mouth is set and black
As we watched the pyres
Smoking out the life from the air.
The smoke blurred my vision
It never did yours
You want to clean it up
And trace the grueling lines into the laundry.
Send then the ashes to heaven
If you can
Wash the red from your lips and hands
If you can.
Rub it hard on the riverside stone
But I tell you, the marks glare at me
With a dagger and a bowl
Waiting for the call of justice.
The ground is soft and soaked
With thick viscid liquid
I have some ashes in my hand
And it trickled like the hourglass.
Where are you?
Where is justice?
I am confused.
Why did you run under the dark cloak of night?
The choir sang at the mass funeral
And the imam and the priest
Offered immolated prayers and intercessions
But no one thought of you and your little grenades.
We are the ones cremated in those pyres
We are the fools of the house not you
That ran away covered in big coats
Later to come back and light the pyres!
Written by: Chimezie Chika
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.