MARAUDERS by Christopher Labesa

Read Time:1 Minute, 25 Second

…there is sadness in the face of the moon.

Boom boom!
Marauders at the door.
Boom boom!
Gory chunks on the floor.

those marauders;disgruntled fragments of the Sahara storms;
with blood as token toast,broke into our dozing homes,
transcending into our deepest dreams;their sword of enemy deep;
like thorny rain in soundless nightmare, their talons in our sleep.

Stained with blood,sweat and tears of fleeting souls.
When darkness fought the sun,marauds their pungent soles.
These marauders;
of whom our trust belie,
wade unto us but death;taking from our scream – delight.
Fiery storm – their whirling eye,raining tears of flame.

Left in painful emotional wrecks;our turgid hopes untamed.

Those marauders;of the sahara wind blown,
on those mountains south;sung macabre song,
beating Gatling drums;dancing us to early eternal beds.
Fresh widows-baggy-hearts;
terrified in the consuming-vastness of now empty beds,
an appalled receding fertility…


within decrepit walls;our western wisdom seek,
Soaked in loamy yield;our tillers hoe speak,
market wrappers dodging glides;steady-vigour-taint,
four legged fielders stride;devouring may green paint.
Hither came marauders,as ruthless as jungle beasts
engaged on sumptuous fields;trampled upon our peace.

When their bullets greeted,responded our hoes;
as we dug for life,our eyes almost met our toes.
Stolen from us our breaths, our trunks on our birth soil rot;
left with rubbles of once earthen shelter;providence lot.
Echoes of our cries;marauders ignite,long shall lingers.
Like the dried-living-tree postures,skywards our praying fingers.

…there is sadness in the face of the moon;
but the sun once again promises laughter.

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