Children Of Rome Poem by Chiemerie Njoku

When you get to see a country of myacidaes,
you can see the idea growing in the middle
of your palms. We claimed their triumph
with the epiphany of dead seas and desert
rocks, and also praise he who wins through
life's game of rubbles. We witness the witness
who witnesses the butterfly gyrating inside
our tongues. How they begin to crush on our saving chair. In the wilderness, there is no sign that reads: thou shall not kill. Moreover, our dream we replace with broken ceramics, because in knowing our destruction we
doctor our joy. The twins of falling: under the darkening moon we dance in the iconolatry oil.

Njoku chiemerie