By Kobe Eru Godwin
credit: globalpost.com
No sound from distance chant
No symphony from holy house of worship
No mothers call, no babies cry
Few hands to hold when fathers die
No bravery
In silence, with broken tongues, prayers we say to lost souls
Names engraved on head stones
This land painted by the hand of God, called beautiful
Now, a once upon a time
Like a thief in the night
On a thousand hooves they rode with intents, far from peace
Sparks of bullets lit gray skies
Dark clouds gathered, to pray like the heavens lost an Angel
Stole our arts, battered the depth of our culture
Bodies, left to be scavenged by vultures
To the shadows of caves, the weak ran
With grace to hold another day,
The twilight of the horizons, we follow
My inside all turn to ash, I smolder
Fear crawls beneath skin to bone
Everything is beyond grip, slowly dying or is gone
In whispers I ask myself, whose land is this?
The land of my birth, a place I call home
On a crossroad of cemeteries
Should I live to forgive, love or hate
I ponder, alone with my thoughts, my pen and my slate.
