Thursday, September 10, 2015

Agarau Adedayo writes

Midnight Memoirs:

We'd hear sounds of aching missiles
Banging the door of our happiness
Against the lock of divine anguish.
We'd hear the moan of painful demise
Fainting tick by tick as the wind blows beyond
To bury voices in the equator of a silent world.
We'd hear war sing of boredom where
Grounds cry for bloodstains.
Behind our home, hue of grim
Would cover the naked eyes of the land.

We would not sleep.

We'd sniff the dirty smells of  death
And see flood of bodies on our streets.
Bodyless heads will be planted in gutters
For in due time, they'd be the relics: the map
That leads our children to their homes.
We'd pant our life through the nostrils of terror
Painting our fear with the colour of a faded faith
Leaving the shadows of distuned hopes to fall on it.

We would not sleep.

We'd remember this story every night
When the scars of sleeplessness
Stings the pains of a looted peace in our vessels.
We'd stand to sing dirges whose lines die
In the middle of passionate rhythms.
We'd sit to cry for the sons who sailed beneath,
For the daughters who strolled beyond our views,
For the mothers who wailed for all
For those searching for tears with torches.

We would not sleep.

1 comment:

  1. The refrain seems low-key in the midst of the horrible commentary of the verses -- unless one is familiar with 1 Corinthians 15:5
    Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,


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