The Dying God Poem by Nancy Ilamwenya

What is this god we behold?
His worship; Justice, in awe we hold.
With almighty hand he rules, weighbridge firmly held,
On which each soul is gauged.
The acted, the spoken, the thought.

I understand not, what he entails,
If god he is, he surely should know
An icon abused, a resolve beaten,
a title tarnished, a god defiled;
Is all I see, of a god once boundless.
Your enemy dear god, is winning.
A giant hand lingers around me, with black harsh skin and murky long nails,
It presses against my nose, and i wheeze,
“god of justice, are you blind to see?
almighty hand with a weighbridge held, are you there to save?
Articulate silence replies.
A smell of futility, a touch of anger, a rhythm of resentment, a taste of revenge,
A heart too heavy, to wait for a dying god.