Blood on the leaves

Light flicker on our fields
Our seeds has chosen not
To be seen

The older women ask the young wives
The older men summon the young men
The children call out their distant friends

A well forgotten meeting took place
Concerned animals stumbled to the
Little town hall

They asked
With their quiet voices
Screaming the roof of Heavens
In insane

Why has Light departed, like a
Mourning gate?

Why does peace shudder, like a
Growling grave?

It appears to them,
In their clear sentences

There’s blood
On the leaves,
blood on the path
Blood in their Hearts

MO.

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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