Silver line
Tattered and patched in uniform
Hordes, milling like conquering
Soldiers of occupation
To ruins of husk remains
The dusty floor is my bench
The angry rumble of suppeders stomachs
Supply percussion to Babel
The bilious thunder that is my name
Murder my peace
Inviting my tender feet to paid servitude
Out there are Sam, John, Mike
Peddling, racing vehicles for a few pennies
Their pregnant pockets put bread on the table
Grumbling stomachs first
Worthlessly expensive education rest
Polio smiles when kpakpor clumps his tortured passage
Kerosene exploded lives
Culture and tradition bared it's fangs
Stoked by men of unbridled passion
Jane the sacrifice V.V.F her cross
In the distance beyond the morning murk
The discordant ethnic rhymes of war
Thump fevered thoughts Biafra holocaust
Let us not let the colours of our faith
The language we speak, sunder us
Images swirl as clear as Technicolour
On the horizon
Citizen ant-scatter
Hearts and hands with conscience
Work for the common good
Bulbs grow
Tap flow
Economy grow
Corruption we mow
To discord we say no
If deep-anguised sighs
Punctuate not fretful peace
For a committed, purposeful leadership we ask
The seeds for the harvest
Have to be sown now
This is profound @kilatunzii a well thought out poem. Thumbs up.
Great piece. This platform makes a great outlet for the work of Ekphrasis.