by simeon ifarinde | |
Published on: Dec 16, 2005 | |
Topic: | |
Type: Poetry | |
https://www.tigweb.org/express/panorama/article.html?ContentID=6755 | |
A nation at the brink: crumbles at the Hands of death. In reminiscence: the Past deeds of our heros might have been lumped (bagged) for the dump, the cod of prosperity thrown for a lot, mumped by the dogs: a non-ruminant, ravaging the land, a pestilence. Their hands tinted in blood of the stillborn cursing their memory, as the unborn held by a thread undecided, to be or not to be. On the other side, the unlucky one strolls unto the world once a land of beauty, beneath the crust cheese run, dwelling in her loins, but alas! She lay now a fallow, deep beyond, heard, the cries of pain and curses “Why, why, what have I done to deserve life.” The question alludes to chance, choice or survival. The little one thrown unto the lap of a pale tiny figure, a bony structured hand, thrust it unto a flattened chest, a breast drained of milk, Mother Nature cries, her barn once rose Lofty in the skies, beneath the sun She held on to life’s strings, likened to Her robe, tattered, barely sheltering her Nakedness, her noble sons taunt her Beauty, Mother Nature cries Ahy! Eewo! Murder reins, the cry of Incest, Mother Nature battered, raped And bruised by her noble sons: those Entrusted with wealth for her care Mother Nature cries being plundered, Striped of wealth, comfort and peace, Left a destitute, haggard, diseased, warn, Broken between odds: crime and death, Once there was beauty, peace and flourish In the land, where mother Natures’ mighty Sons till the land, made the ridges, plant to Grow and protect the land, Harvest to serve her needs, her beauty, once was donned in gold like the fields, the lawn, the forest, the seas, oceans and the shore all defending her diversity Amidst compromise, against coercion and threat of annihilators, capture and power lords, behold her might sons lay in the ground resting with their father Stirring in the grave cursing her noble sons that lay sage plundering her beauty, aye! Mother Nature cries for a nation plundered to death. « return. |