Placing a rift between themselves
Their fingers they consider as meat
To see their blood is their life’s love;
Apart, themselves they tore
Assuming positions so parallel;
Amongst themselves they war
Out, themselves, they are determined to level;
They war on the trail
The trail of the line
The line that stood between them
And introduce the language ‘mine’;
Larger than them is its stem
The flame they ignited soon overwhelmed them,
It burned and burned
They stood pruned, consumed;
Their buds blossom
Into flowers they grow
They try to poison the xylem
So the tracks by action they shall never blow…
…If only we can wave them aside
And beside them bury their hatred’s seed
We shall no longer suffer for what we know not
And strife we’ll stamp out.
Written by: Alozor Michael Ikechukwu
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
