Golds Of Women Poem by Obasi Okoro Stephen

For our strength stand still sipping sickness as strength in weakness
Our very enemy smile to us with the sweet bloody killings
But to what height is this strength of mine as a tigress
compared to these gents of blood troopers in meetings?
Our men has fallen to the deepest dust unclean-able
just as our tears has turned to bitter oceans of blood
My fellow defeated women weep no more for days memorable
as this, rejoice and kiss gladness as a running free flood.

For even on this reason our gods has their own season;
A royal queen to be thrown in a beautiful agonizing prison
For the beauties of this little town of Owu sank to the sand
Even as our men now weep gently in the unknown darkness can
weep no more! For if thy worshiped had left us to fate i will not
My avenge will be grave and lovely to thy hearing just when i will nut
'yo the feeble town of lunatics blind men in battle with their own gods
Ij'bu, the sweet arrogant land with troubles as their own great guts
'fe the ancestral home of our language, may Olodumare blink a second on you.
As you've rubbed our town to glorious jubilation in dark new.

Enslaved us and make us chain-bearers as the Trojan women,
gracing your un-worthy feet and bed of theft we mean
send our damsel to the kitchen of the louts of ladies
letting our royalty be the ones in d stream and tout with common maidens

so women, smile in your wailing of a terrible departure
and too late for the gods, for they weakens without our prayer in nature.
The fat of healthy rams will live for millions of time
and your shrines will be an abode for the dark birds of dime