Anthem Written On War Ii Poem by Timothy Faboade

When the sun in the East rises
In the morning before the world wakes
To look for and prepare its daily cakes,
I hope for a day devoid of crisis.

Upon my roof is no hungry vulture,
The day's dream looks so real
And all that I for ages nurture
Seem to be near my heels.

Like the lofty galaxy in the sky,
The whole of me, with the ray of peace,
Has its joy high, so high
For I think the tempest has cease'd.

Many days have been full of dark
When thick, dark stark smokes
From the incorrigible metal sharks
boomed and offered heavy yokes.

The stuttering guns are out of sight,
Well, maybe near, I think, is a solace,
Could the lethal stone have lost its Might?
In them man gets his glorious grace.

How many deads can I count?
Ashes are the short and tall hills
Beyond words porous pains sprout
While the sharks and stones thrill.

Where the stones staunchly drop,
Nothing forever shall live there,
They harvest man like ripe crops
Yet, at one camp there's a cheer.

So, the earliest, brightest sun brings
Pleasant, melodious, rhythmic songs.
But will man to these dance and sing?
For he possesses a bile-like, vile tongues.

Then, hovering is an electronic bird
So ugly, eye-soring, and callous a beast
Clad in a mirthful military shirt
And on the sky having a bloody feast.

Its balls of saliva in the space patter
On many million heads like fiery rain
As they drop and rain, they clatter
In and on the cursed world of vain.

At noon the sun hides it boon:
The beautiful, peaceful dream is lost,
Night, again, arrives without the moon
Can the world still stand the cost?