Death toll in our land
Snatching the young and old
Infrastructures on progressive decay.
Oh! how dreams dissolve to dewdrops
As Boko spits from the hill top
Beyond the destiny of fleshly yearnings
Lured to the bed of wonder
Unfolding the sleeves of wicked religious diva
…Too many waters have passed under the bridge
The fields are painted in red grasses like crimson
As Boko, like chickens strike our innocence with hurting riddles,
Gory memories that saddens the heart….
The days are drunk with fear-vine
Intoxicating our bleeding hearts
Crumbling legs, of a time of sinking sand…
Chants of redemption, peruse his leaking cavity
And he trades our sanity for stupendous calamity
Powdering our hands in reading time-bomb!
Wrapped in hides of despair
He offers a share of kind wickedness
Inferring a G(g)od he never knew
Whence the storm of death caress our feeble toes
Where is the rest of the stories untold?
As we trample on ailing foes..
Every second seem to devour radiant dreams
Of they, that in the hands, conceive
Into thin air, like kids’ kite play.
Rinsing her cloaks with ugly tears
Doping our lads in mammoth hell’s smell
Time filled with clattering flames
A smoke without a fire?
The misery irking our hearts
In that bush, the clanging Bell of ‘Sambisa’.
…of peaceful times…
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.