"THE NEW HELL" (of the killings on the plateau

Broken songs do not make any rhythm
So are poems with broken lines
They make no sense to no one but a victim
this poem is not an exception, it's born out of a hideous pilgrim.

at 5:30 in the am
The news reads;
200 bodies descended into Hades with broken bones and burnt spirits
Each carrying their shadows in their hands
Humming a Catholic hymn;
"Shall I come an empty handed?"
Until then did they realized that this world is not their home, it does not belong to them.

oh plateau!!
The new hell where the memories of cold wars are buried by the news of wars that are bold
Somewhere in barkin ladi,
A pregnant woman is carrying her cross like a desert traveller trembling on hot sand
she wants to crucify the portrait of a cow
Painted by her late husband who was slaughtered like a cow.
It seems to her humanity is nothing but a grazing land for cattle.

Listen, the drums have changed in beats
Perhaps, the drummer's throat has been slit open too?
He's been beating the drums of war the very day he was born
So as to mourn the souls of thousands who were killed by the heads-men.
Plateau! May the spirit of the deceased speak to God in anger.

Tell him about the children whom he said are the apple of his eyes
Echoe to his ears the cry of their prying soul, may they find peace in paradise
Remind him of our Moses who has no staff
Now we are stock at the red sea, what will he use to strike the sea?
Perhaps, ours is not a stammerer,
He likes sandals even on holy lands.

The drums will beat again
But only the brave will dance to it
only those who see the face of God
In every lyrics of a broken song
Only those who have the balls to ask God the question;
"must Africa have
to come the third time?".

©Kyenshak Polycarp
Title begotten of Abdullaziz Atta
June, 2018