A Cried President Poem by Ojeikpo Elijah

A CRIED PRESIDENT
There is a wailed and tears in the sky
That never will be still,
Like the voice of a lonely bird
It rolled upon his contour
Behind a starry hill.

Will it be a cried we shall pay?
For what I may not know
An infinite crying of desire to reap
Our feet are slow, since we risen.
Who bewitched you, oh Africa?

My eyes are weak to behold
The blood Sunday sermon
It is the universe wailing I seen
Will it be a cried we shall pay?
For what I may not know
An infinite crying of desire to reap.