john chizoba vincent
WE ARE LOST
The hope is gone
The four corner of the street
Had tasted the sweet and bitter part of
Our crying blood in horror.
The soil knows the colour of our tears
The earthworms and maggots had feasted
More of the body and soul of our brothers.
When shall we live in peace like others
Not brothers against his brother and sister in tears?
When shall the terrible sound of explosion ceased?
They said they are powerless and weak
They said they are nothing they could do
While people die in pains and agony.
The black hearts are more powerful than them.
We are left in a bloody arena
In doubt and fear with a terrible hope.
No one knows his last meal, perhaps the cloth his
Wearing might be the last cloth he put on by his self.
We are lost in a ditch, yes we are.
I saw the division, i saw the break out
Of a lost nation in the midst of wolves.
I torn verses of words out of my mouth,
I broke the tears in my eyes but couldnt
Maintain the atmosphere condition of innocent blood
Spread merrily in the street every night and day.
We smile amidst tears, dance whilst crying.
Sorrow laugh at us, mock us on the lost throne.
I could not with stand those sound and news of lost ones
So i write beautifully so that the world could hear
See that we keep not quiet like the duck
but we scream like the hen whose chick was carried by a kite.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
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