THE POTTER’S FIELD (a poem by Olowo Qudus)

the wind dashed into despair; and the soil mourned.
hundred-thousands of bodies lay on the belly
of mother earth/with dirges/pinching their souls

the year was sweet/seraphic/and savoury/with a pandemic,
an adventure from China created a travelogue
in the cinema of pain/grieve and threnodies
even the gods sought resort from the pale palms of their buffs

cemeteries and the soils now quelch, for their bellies are
overfed with decaying bodies of 'corona'-ted beings

the world is now a potter's field filled with faultless death
of free men, it now whispers into the wind's weary ears,
a song of forlornness/death/pain/torment and despair