Miasma whispers in the ears of its Delta children
as they sway to the songs that caress their lips
The violent noise has become a barren burden
Faces of confusion and guilt – eclipse
The melancholy echoes are fueled by a trade of disharmony
the air is polluted with intense uncertainty-
Enmity quenches the veins of their thoughts
webbed in the chains in which they’ve been caught.
Conflict and strife persuades poverty to strike
embracing the fear that injustice requires to ignite.
Demanding shares where peace should be shared.
“Freedom” hides, captured- tearfully ensnared
dark-haired men battle in an oil war
What are they fighting for?
Stolen or not, wisdom is brave-
Conflict does nothing but empower rage,
rage that runs not only to your enemy, but yourself
Are you fighting love and peace for wealth?
Blood stained oils seep deep into the conscience of those who remain-
that war they fought- nothing has changed.
Land of Oil-rivers- their home- their industry,
benefits leak into the palms of their enemy-
polluted by lands afar they’ve now made amends
One problem solved- God still has more blessings to send,
If only hearts turn-away from these ills
Toxicity, seemingly goes beyond oil spills-
First environment now its people-
Hope itself is ashamed and fearful.
A staircase of poison stretches from a fallen state
They slowly help peace close its gate
Reason has taught them to vandalize pipelines
Although this impinges on their own economic lifelines.
Why do your own children donate to hate?
Playing with the fires of a vindictive fate.
The poisoned air touches the frames of their rivers,
dark smoke ascends from their ancestor’s cinders
flowing into the contours of their hearts-
the devil has toyed with their craft.
Shelled in shells alone-
Hear the graves moan-
they mourn- the end of cruelty
are we not human enough to fight with dignity.
The land is your own, the wealth too-
but war has no choice but to let you lose.
Until the children hold hands in unity-
to eradicate the stench of animosity-
and with “voice” to reason with reality
not with “tears” or “blood” brutality.
Peace is waiting at the doors of this delta-
Peace waits for its people to give it shelter.
Run and run-but no-one can hide-
Peace is chasing them-Peace will find
a place in their soul’s to hide.
Peace is chasing them -they can not hide.
Miasma whispers in the ears of its Delta children
as they sway to the songs that caress their lips
The violent noise should now turn into tranquil burden
Where faces of love and peace eclipse.
