Amudipe Opeyemi Marcus

Doomsday - Poem by Amudipe Opeyemi Marcus

On this mountain in yore years
Milk flowed like the Nile
It tentacles, like Tigris and Euphrates
It source, fueled by no magic fertilizer

On this mountain, we got life
On its valley, we have our rites of life
Our existence survived through its existence
We toiled, we reap and we laughed.

Over years, on this mountain
The our sun, saw blood, its eyes bloodshot
Sons and bastards stirred up
A pot of soup they made

To our bowels we ate
From its deep we fed our offsprings
We died, they grew, on our very mountain
In due seasons, bountifully we reap

To our eyes, the milk goes sour, while our tears flowed
Breaking all boundaries, our pains soared
On this mountain, we had laughed
But now, the vulture hangs around, doomsday! ! !
ARG! ARG! ! ARG! ! ! the poet wept

Amudipe Opeyemi Marcus

Topic(s) of this poem: sadness

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 7, 2015

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