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 </div><p></p>i.<br>
We are all children of death, born at the cemetry<br>
of doubts and hopeless future<br>
that exists in the bald hearts of photo-copied pictures<br>
and dreams that soared away long ago<br>
on the wings of vultures,
<p>On empty boxes of ballots of riots we sit<br>
Waiting for the fufilment of lies<br>
and the realization of mirrages<br>
The marginalization of tragedy with tear-edy.</p>
<p>Our cheeks melt in our palms as they hold and behold<br>
the death of comrades and the slaughter of men<br>
like goats and rams of Ileya<br>
“Stretch forth your neck and let us paint<br>
with the crayons of Akiti the ghost”<br>
Says the men of host.</p>
<p>These streets are death traps,<br>
Men walk head down and legs up.</p>
<p>ii<br>
Men spill their men’s blood and eat there liver<br>
while power holders are struck and weak with fever,<br>
thus, darkening these streets of diamond<br>
with the darkness of coal and brimstone<br>
making us loose our diadem<br>
like in the days of Soddom cum Gomorrah.</p>
<p>Bumps of human burns cluster on these streets,<br>
Cars jostling bumper to bumper on our high-wastes.<br>
They were meant to walk on wheels<br>
But they ride on their backs<br>
leading to a conflagaration.<br>
Burn spill!<br>
Burns!</p>
<p>Barracks are reserved arsenals for lease<br>
to blood sucking monsters that kill and destroy,<br>
Their teeth and jawbones are metals,<br>
They sway their heads as they walk,<br>
Telling lies about the unborn saviour’s birth.</p>
<p>We sang a mirth<br>
but love sings a dirge, we pledge.</p>
<p>iii<br>
All hail the power of the gods of guns,<br>
Those that kill the body with its soul,<br>
Gods that grope in the darkness of time<br>
heading towards the monster’s shrine,<br>
with secrecy and hypocrisy lurked in their medulla<br>
and flesh of foetuses tucked between their canine teeth.<br>
They shall submit at our monster’s feet.</p>
<p>Canabis-smoking canibals stagger in stupor<br>
on these streets that never saw sunshine.<br>
Brackish waters flow in drainages<br>
that irrigate our door-steps and foot-steps<br>
splashing spattering spatter on our scattered shattered battered dignity.</p>
<p>Men of honour and horror that never stopped their terror<br>
trailing and tracking the ants of their people –<br>
People who submitted the staff of leadership<br>
and the scepter of authority to them<br>
in good will.</p>
<p>Men run amok in tatters and fetters in their own house<br>
because there are ‘god-fetters’ in this place.</p>
<p>iv<br>
Very soon, vultures will gather here<br>
To pick up living cadavers that make cadences of deep snore.<br>
They’d smile at the crimson coloured caffeine<br>
dripping from the dark side of the Missouri, the Nile and the Niger.</p>
<p>When these zombies get high on rye,<br>
Even dracula shall lose the last instinct to suck<br>
And martians would descend through the degenerated ozone<br>
To attack the white vanguards on these black streets<br>
from their vantage points.</p>
<p>Till then, love sings a dirge<br>
But let Peace be a spectator.</p>
<p>v<br>
Fright and terror takes their seats on the throne of our heart<br>
with a place of fire producing farenheits of heat<br>
burning slowly our cold melting heat of wax<br>
breakiong through auricles and ventricles<br>
Blood-splash!<br>
Horrible!</p>
<p>Blood spill on dark sheets of coaltar<br>
that lay useless on our stark barren roads<br>
those that leads to fruitless seaports<br>
that never welcomed the ships of Tarshish</p>
<p>Men pile upon men as they breath their last prayers<br>
they stay mute, awaiting a saviour<br>
Boom! Boom! Went the assaulting sound again<br>
None coul open ‘its’ eye to see it<br>
nor measure the pitch of the next booms.</p>
<p>On these streets; men die the death of goats<br>
and monsters live the life of men.</p>
<p>vi<br>
Darkness looms upon the face of the saharan barreness<br>
The land flowing with trick and felony<br>
where the sun never set nor rise;<br>
Weak soils hat swallow men in its sand of time.</p>
<p>A land where the moon is always red<br>
drenched with the dye that bleeds from men’s neck,<br>
from the navels of unborn babies<br>
denied the grace of hearing a lullaby;<br>
when they were pierced and jatted into pieces<br>
in the belly of a zombie mother as she pleases.</p>
<p>From womb to tomb<br>
From heav’n to grave<br>
From hero to zero<br>
like in the days of Nero</p>
<p>The earth is dark<br>
but the heart is darker.</p>
<p>vii<br>
Death lives in the heart of man<br>
and in the blood of Adam is hell,<br>
Trees no loger have stems<br>
and sheep now do yell.</p>
<p>On these streets we travel<br>
we hear of mothers in travail<br>
cursing the day of their birth<br>
and the whole of their progeny’s existence.</p>
<p>These streets are slippery,<br>
For the Niger overflowed.<br>
Crocodiles and monsters lay by<br>
waiting for whom to devour.<br>
The one that drained our land,<br>
now drains our blood.</p>
<p>Our honourable monsters promised human rights,<br>
forgetting its our property; on these streets.</p>
<p>viii</p>
<p>Lightening sparked! Thunder struck</p>
<p>Like the reverberation of a lion’s roar</p>
<p>The earth was scared and moved a step from its orbit</p>
<p>The arctic shook and the antarctic trembled</p>
<p>Like at the slaughter at Thermopylae</p>
<p>The heart of the earth skipped like the hills of Lebanon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gloomy smokes and flames erupted from the chimneys of heaven</p>
<p>Glowing fire with brimstone and sulphur</p>
<p>Rolling flames and throwing smokes</p>
<p>Descending the stairs of the windy airways</p>
<p>to assist the turning Tornado.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bridges cut asunder like in a Tsunami</p>
<p>Homes crashing and crumbling to rubbles</p>
<p>Vehicles stumbled as weights of air dug cemetries</p>
<p>On which our streets are built</p>
<p>With dead bones resurrecting to tread these streets</p>
<p>And chagrined men struggling to walk with their four legs</p>
<p>Like furred animals, as our furred monsters taught us so</p>
<p>On the day that forgot our furred fathers – our fore-feathers</p>
<p>On whose wings we did fly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Clock strucks twelve</p>
<p>The gossip duck quacks till death.</p>
<p>ix</p>
<div class="entry-content">
<p>Under this dark shade of iroko i sat<br>
Like one recollecting the episode of a lost love<br>
Like a zombie flogged back to live by koboko<br>
I staggered these streets of the living dead<br>
The dead that died the death of the mind<br>
In the blind heart of the deceit fed them</p>
<p>I saw a man in white<br>
“Man in white, when shall i stop dreaming –<br>
Of death and tombs and bombs?”<br>
Of streets of gold in blood?”</p>
<p>The sky blew like wind<br>
And blued down this naked soil</p>
<p>In my bed I laid saying a prayer<br>
May this new dawn be a boom(b)less one<br>
And a dagger in the heart of slayers.</p>
</div>
<p>x</p>
<p>these red carpets you see laying bare on our dark soil<br>
are stained so by fluids from bleeding hearts<br>
of innocent chicks choked by claws<br>
of eagles and birds of prey<br>
the lies of lying liars and clanging cymbals<br>
.<br>
beyond these streets you’ll behold<br>
wailing wailers waiting to be vindicated<br>
with Ikemefuna’s pot on their bald heads<br>
and beards that grey the grayness of gravity<br>
the heaviness of their sin’s consequences<br>
.<br>
if we have our way at last<br>
we shall sing joyful mirth again</p>
<figure id="attachment_22702" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-22702" style="width: 1280px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://poetry.wrr.ng/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/ZOMBIE-STREETS-I-X-by-Samuel-Amazing-Ayoade.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-22702" src="http://poetry.wrr.ng/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/ZOMBIE-STREETS-I-X-by-Samuel-Amazing-Ayoade.jpg" alt="ZOMBIE STREETS I-X by Samuel Amazing Ayoade" width="1280" height="886" loading="lazy"></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-22702" class="wp-caption-text">ZOMBIE STREETS I-X by Samuel Amazing Ayoade</figcaption></figure>
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 Samuel Amazing Ayoade </a>
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