The road was long, very long, so long.
The journey was tough, the kicks, the punches,
Stake, in the most sacred, hiding part of a woman.
Cudgels not for thieves and kidnapers,
Descending on the innocent head of a damsel.
Can you watch the dancing steps?
Can you see my tears flow as I am recalling?
No arm around my shoulders, no whispers of it is well
As I punch my sorrow on these helpless keys.
A forlorn look on my face,
A hopeless thought in my heart: wake up big sis
Can you share my pains? Can you feel the aches?
I mean the one in my heart, not the attending migraine.
I cannot punch these keys any more...
They are not the culprits, we are;
Victims victimizing victims. Who wrote that?
I cannot remember. Wole Soyinka or Chinua Achebe
Not that I really care who, in this my demented moment
The choice of diction neither do I care.
Lions will not kill for fun,
What do will kill for? In war and in peace,
We kill but cannot eat. Humans, I mean, not goats.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem