clothed in fine shrouds, like madmen
in the midst of two opposites we sat, blind and mute
listening to the songs of the holocaust
Our noses sniffed the odium of polluted winds
filled with hollow voices of deafening dreams
quacking the tones of visionless lanes
in the anarchy of silence
We shrunk, we prayed and escorted our hearts
to the prison of debt. We spoke to death in the doldrums
of lame pleas and danced to the fearful drum beats
of faceless zombies without hearts
We wailed in the grip of abducted breath,
labelled our fates with epigrams on missing bones
and buried our amulets beside graves of noisy tenants
confused of where to call their hamlets…
We weep for revival in the faces of this haram
we pick crumbs for survival under the clumsy clouds
we rest our heads in the bower of fraud
we smile to the pictures of congested dreams, tearful
we sit, awaiting the counsellors of peace to awake
II.
the market is not a place to buy and sell
it is a place to view the restless moon
from within the walls of once-was stalls
whose shelves now mock expiry dates
‘twas a bargain we came for
how did we reach Death’s door?
the school is not a place to spur medullas
it is a place to scribble on abandoned scribbles
while silence cackles a muted applause
and echoes repeat the absent teacher
the Devil sneezed in class
so that Death may pass!
the church is not a place to lie to God
nor the mosque a place to curry His favour
Imam was gunned down…pastor was hung up
so we will worship from our homes
a goats sits at the altar
‘tis no strange matter!
the khakis we send in their hundreds
only to receive coffins… in thousands
for faceless men pre-empt their ways
and harmless men number our days
‘Kaboom!’ is our ‘Salam!’
because Boko is haram
Written by: Moses Chibueze Opara and Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
