In A Nadowli Bus Poem by Elliot Moore Ahiator

Lips in a downturn,
unsmiling and in a bind.
Only the divine knows of the hurt.
Of desires in bosom, seething and overflowing.
Alas! Helpless one.
Your lips in a seal.

Bruises mar you.
The beauty of a Nubian queen.
Eyes black and blue in shades unnatural.
We see, we know.

Shameful us, for our lips in a seal.
Your graceful steps, now defined by the limp.
Slow and wobbly, you, for whom the very earth with each step quaked.
Drawing glances, stolen under pain of death.
Woe, oh woe
For our eyes find sudden interest in the dung beetle busy
about its business when you approach.

He struck and we heard
Thunder after lightening, blazing fast and sharp.
Cowards! We heard. Your yells and wails.
We heard it all.
Our get well soon cards await you with such consoling words
and our empty barreled promises of how all will be better & anew.