Brief Consolation At The Gate Poem by Oluwagbemisola O. Lawal

In the shadow of sacred palms on a day meant for peace,
Blood soaked the earth where laughter once danced free,
Families torn asunder, children's eyes wide with fear,
A mother's wail echoing through the valley's tear.

He came, a fleeting shadow at the edge of the storm,
Touching grief with hurried words, promises warm,
Justice like distant thunder, aid like morning mist,
Troops and cameras whispered, but the wound persists.

Yet the clock ticked louder than the sobs in the air,
He turned from the beds where the broken lay bare,
From the graves freshly dug, from the vengeance in hearts,
To chase the wings of departure, tearing bonds apart.

"Oh, city soul, " the voices cry from the hills of pain,
"You fly in, you fly out, leaving embers in the rain.
Airport whispers of comfort, but the city calls in dread,
Fear guards the streets where the living mourn the dead."

Weeping little ones clutch empty hands in the night,
Burials heavy with fury, under a merciless light.
The land bleeds on, farmer and herder locked in endless fight,
While brief consolations fade like smoke into the height.

In this fragile haven, where faith and fury blend,
The heart of a people bends but refuses to end.
They plead for more than echoes at the runway's call
For hands that stay, for eyes that truly see it all.