SHE IS IN TURMOIL

Oh! My body

The home of equanimity before

Where serenity and respect inhabited

For cheers and Cordial cohabitation

Now is something to recall

Instead of living with the former angelic aura

We live with the demonic latter

My corpus bleeds!

Tributaries of blood cascade into troughs

The oceans of blood passeth freely

As if major arteries are cut open

With flies along its trails

We the legs, cry no more

For we, now lack tears

Our heads turn their faces

Never towards us

Their hearts away from this cursed course

Alas! They live well

In, out and with it

But give us vacant veil of promises

Talks and prayers

With NOTHING within

However, their gestures are pronounced

Like an over bloated pouch of a kangaroo

Their noses point up and forward

Only and always to their Yusufs

Running only to salvage them

From an accidental injury

’cause a life is far better

And preferable than the expendables

70s, 86s and numberless kinds

Buried underneath

Hmmm! Here comes the Felas rectitudes

“suffering and smiling”

But we never believed it

Here it unveils!

Akin to a woman’s paunch in third trimester

We could endure

Might let breeze dry our streaming eyes

And allow domestic flies

Suck up accompanying nose viscous

The cause of the pain ever remains

Like the stabbing pain of whitlow

Even after the very power rein passes

We are despondent

Why?

Our heads have no grey hair

In the essence of it

The axe is lifted with gigantic brawn

About to be struck on the legs’ cephalos

Like the sword of damocle

She is in turmoil

Dear legs, Wailing holds no effect

Aha! We must rise to the clarion

Decibelic voice of all Danjumas

They succeed us not

On our part, we must not fail them

Deploying counter strategies

Foiling their failings

Against the grisly behaving branches

The haram, the ‘men’ called ‘herds’

This is not a battle

Is a war

It’s broken out

Albeit, victoria ascerta

Since there’s a change of ‘game’

We must dance mutably to the beat

Swaying our hips to the cleansing

I’m done shutting my oral lacuna

Pinning my tongue to its floor

Daunting as Fawehinmi and Awolowo combined

Defiant as Mandela

Possess the tongue of fire of Martin Luther

Pushing for good governance like Dele Giwas

In all, across her, are spurts of milk and honey

And am from the Eastern South.

By Enya, Samuel Obinna; a poem against the killings in Nigeria as a result of the passive leadership style of president Mohammed Buhari.

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Written by Enya, Samuel

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