By
Noel A. Ihebuzor
We are the broken ones
ones about to be broken
about to break again
soft wood stuck
between hammer and anvil
Debris like cloud dust
from fleeing time now
float in our semi-circular
canals, our tympanic membranes
tampered, in shreds and tatters
Swirling dusts of rage,
coloured by clan and clime
by breed and creed
cloud our vision
we see hazy in the enveloping mist
where truth lies supine
and lies triumph
Wise counsel struggles for hearing
but is ignored, the midwife of truth
has been sacked, a vicious grip
holds the throat of the sooth saying parrot
and trampled truth struggles still to rise
Let Him and Her that hath even one ear
listen and hear
let even the blind
see and read these prophecies
scripted hazily on these patchy papyrus
with ink drawn from the veins of the dying
Let Her, let Him
even the clumsy with a broken tongue,
a struggling stammer
sign sing these messages
to a deaf world
For in hearing,
and heeding
in reading, decoding and recoding
in listening and speaking
lies escape, recovery and renewal
and new beginnings
May the bond
of the heart bound in hatred
be broken, shattered
scattered in the dust
let scattered hopes regroup
to oppose doom and destitution
and broken hearts begin to mend,
rebuild, re-bond and rebound,
binding all bile and bitterness
casting them to funeral pyres
of unending infernos
***Feeeling blue on a Friday and worrying about my country!
Reflections 