Drum Stick Poem by Adeniran Joseph

DRUM STICK


This is a  verse for my city in the hands of gods,
Where we send our bodies with letters of tears
According to the history behind a home,
A boy was buried in his mother's thigh,
For proving himself of becoming a man,
And he was taught how to die with his words,
While the boy became the body of sand.

How should we teach our legs to walk away from our body
After we had known how to break our tears?
For to say die is to become a broken silence.

Let them tell us we are not worthy to live,
Let them spits on our faces like we are slaves,
Let them show us the end of our existence,
Let them vote the change of vanity on our lips,
Let them use us like the suicide bombers,
Let them control our Destiny like we're infants,
Let them throw us into the arms of stinking fire,
Let them shun our shadows to learn the language of dirges;
Let them burn us to feel we are lovers of ashes,
But I know, our bodies are still home,
Home of boys & girls falling to the end point of Peace,
With humble heart In search of another home.

There's always a message behind every boys and girls,
Who drink their blood admist of a thousand skulls,
Even if our fears are dead, the stain will make a change.

I won't say let raindrop to pay us respect as boys,
Because we are books written in blurry colors.
Even if we prove flapping our wings high,
It will soon  break without any healings,
Because we can't pass through water without Burying ourselves like a dead leaf;
Seeking for  hope at the end of  bitterness.