| Wednesday, August 9, 2017 | 23:15 GMT

Poetic Justice: A cry of a gunshot

The gun came forcefully
Like thirsty vampires
In early hours of the day
In front of the worshipers
Pierced through the sack
Of blood
And fed the floor

The killers' hands
Targeted the healthy body
Clapping and singing
In praise and worship
Struck with sharp sound
And caused end to the innocent

The dying of the same people
The same nation
Keep falling like tale
Of many stories
That seems to have no end

When will the voices
Of the people be heard?
When will the pains
Of the people be relieved?
When will the stories
Of the people get justice?
And when will their dead
Be respected?

As if the dead weren’t humans
As if the dead have no mourners
As if the dead have no right
As Today hosts wears
Of different colours
With many tongues
Speaking of its looks
The dead is already
In the pot to decay

If not pity, what then?
If not crying for, why a heart?
But if truly touched
Join the queue
In support of the voices
Singing hymns and choruses
To restore the light
That will outshine the darkness
Of cold-blooded gunners.
That light
is Biafra,
The land of the rising sun

Dedicated to those who died in Ozubulu Church Massacre!

For IPOB Writers


Vestibulum bibendum felis sit amet dolor auctor molestie. In dignissim eget nibh id dapibus. Fusce et suscipit orci. Aliquam sit amet urna lorem. Duis eu imperdiet nunc, non imperdiet libero.

Post A Comment:


Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.