leaving impressions that, made me cringe
though filling the voids with each meet
they were words that pierced like a syringe
The Earth growls, with the wrath of a thou’ beasts
for tender plants, trod upon by water cans
Little babies, brought to tears by nursing breasts
bring vengeful tears, that flood the sands
Why, young mother? Why murder; young lady?
True, shamming prince was frantic to flee the wild
but the grief that succeeds the death of a baby
compares poorly to that, for the unborn child
Do you hear that voice, there in the gutter?
Listen – “mother, murder” the words the unborn utters.
Written by: Vique Ogbonnaya Ukegbu
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.