A WISH FROM THE BENUE DESTUTES

A grief picture

Today, we pray to speak not in duress and torture

Since our freedom hoped since time immemorial has come!

We pray to dance and sing as the crow flies, since nature

Has given us a lift above flood!

 

But if freedom be freedom indeed,

 

Let there be no moan of our seedlings any longer,

Let there be no more blood on our land,

Let our mouths be free to speak and stand

And may there be food to heal our hunger!

 

Let our dead find repose therein God’s abode,

Let the wishes of our heroes be born,

Let our name be engraved in gold,

And may there be hope of bread for our unborn!

 

A day like this whets a memory of old,

We recall the vanished souls of great minds

How swords walked thru their mellow throats

On that day they farmed for meal and wine!

 

Our brothers who slept in flood in their lone huts,

Our children who slept in inferno while hawking,

The destitute made to wander in muds,

And our assets lost to fierce burnings!

 

But if freedom be freedom indeed,

 

Let our aches gnaw our leaders’ hearts,

Let the nub be set on our wailings and,

May they seek our risings than falls,

That our lives be apple of their eyes!