Grave Of The Dark Skin Poem by PROMISE ITA OKPOHOUDEME

It was once morning,
In this heart,
Before it is now mourning,
In every hearts.

Oh, black, naked woman,
Your husband is ill,
In every hearts, there's no pill,
There, is an opened grave for your black man.

The making of your callous offsprings,
Dancers of strange strings!
Dwelling on necromantic hills,
Provoking the foundational ills.

The restoration of your soul,
Isn't an easy-buy,
Because of the cankerworms,
Dwelling on your stool (s) .

In every conclave,
They plant in every field the bramble (s) ,
Many, can our saw hew?
Black woman! your offsprings as evil crew.

Every morning in few years,
They mandate us the razor (s) ,
Which can't hew their stony hairs,
But stinky skin in public dresses.

Oh, black woman,
Hit the gong to your offsprings,
Tell them that the earthquake is coming,
To destroy the foundation of their pinnacles.

No need for the evil forest,
They're murderers of father!
Rapists, crippling a widow,
May thunder strike every evil window (s) .

The chase, the chase, oh the chase!
Everything here must surely be,
As Peter to his Saviour,
On the crucifixion parade.

Every Phaemon's dogs must scattered,
There comes the massive dog biting,
From the cloud long gathering,
To make the funeral more painful.