Yesterday was Theirs they bemoaned Guma’s…fall
Today, ours we tell of Mbalom’s… unripe pause;
and Tomorrow, sure, shall be history’s reawakening
in Mama’s four forks
for ours is a land of milk and bloods,
of the basket full of fractured flesh,
of curtains and thunderstorms where
The maze has been stripped of its splendour
and we are confluenced to wither within tick-tocks
far less than pastures.
Nigeria, or Abattoir? Benue, or Rest land?
Nothing is green no more for the night is heavy
and daylight shelters darkness.
The sun has become too shy to shine
and of the moon, with brightness sublime
unions too well with crippled Niger Area
where creatures take turns for transition in broken center.
Life is tiring; this naked truth worth retelling
but with Benue is a pass, free to new dawns,
where black existence finds Freedom’s field in flashes.
How long?
I weep for you, Middle-belters
for your beauty wields the shade of blacks,
and has become the crowned dice for gaming.
‘Another deaths will be too much to bear’
and to silence yard we are tired of calling,
Changers
And I hope You change these chains
for destiny, now we see looks dim eternal.
Anarchy.
(on the incessant killings of natives in Benue state, Nigeria and other states by Fulani herdsmen)
