Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Blood In The Sanctuary
I see blood everywhere, cries of anguish rents the Eastern air.
My father's house, a house of prayer now a nest of crime.
A place of worship now a hive of guns.
A save haven now a theatre of battle.
Where is thy awe for the altar.
The Chasuble is drenched in rivers of blood.
The Ambo is decorated in pellets of fire.
I hear wailing and weeping of the
innocents of Ozubulu.
Anwulika weeps for her slain children, she
The birds sing a dirge.
The fishes drowned in despair.
My house is sanctuary, touch no hair of your foe as long as he remains my guest
inside my sacred walls.
My plea falls on deaf ears like the stubborn fly.
The blood of the innocent of Ozubulu cries out for justice and vengeance.
Ani refuse to bless the soil with a rich
harvest till his sons are avenged.
My house a house of refuge, now a crucible of death.
Shame on you harbingers of death.
Pity, for your souls burn in hell.
The spilled blood will haunt you like
Ozubulu, you die but not in vain.
Your footprints inscribed in the sands of
Like candles you were lit and not even the
fiendish whirlwind can put you out.
You are alive in the tabernacle of our
hearts, never to be thrown in the dustbin
Like comets in the galaxy, fallen children
of Ozubulu you blaze forth forever.
Topic(s) of this poem: murder