The night tell the ladies
a happy ending with holy shed
It fed the murmuring bees
unarmed liquid
It fuels within
Pointing fingers to the fire
burning half the building
No one, humans, knew the meaning
We laughed expecting the morning
Slept like a cripple in a
rosy habit
We hang our safety with the net
of the sinking fish
Told our children a tale of
Heroes in history
Life’s enemies and
unanswered mysteries
Mend shirts with broken needle
Drinking pills of the
expected blessings
If only we could tear the morning
It could have saved
a thousand beings, a wept
said by the talkative fingers of the
Night
Written in memory of the children that was killed while in school by a suicide bomber in North-eastern Nigeria. May their souls rest in peace.
MO.
Faith and Poetry's Home.. 