Infidels! Poem by Odey Patrick

did not join the requiems
when the church speakers blasted
but picked wreaths of wisdom
off the grave of the surprised dead.

I did not supplicate on weak knees
nor question the loud silence of Him
whose yard is grave to youth,
dreams and ambition,
now.

The roughhides of progress would not let be
but flog freedom feeding on soiled grass,
and when they go asalaaming
No victimed brother
seeks my hand in reprisal
(fit as it would have been)
but bear as a sheep.

I did not join the brethren's chorus
ears tuned to the cold whispers of bullets
for when bombs have spoken where
is the wisdom in word dialogue?

I lay back and curse my cowardice
and their bloodlust
quietly in the fortress of my distress for,
they have penetrated peace
with holied swords
and spat in the calabash that offered Eternal water to Many,
they've harvested before season
and planted rife
in their blind vision
razed the vegetal pride of the Land
marshing souls to feed Hell
and now I feel the need to scream, curse
till my lungs burst
till the rebel in me taste the
blood of the saharan infidels
whose faithlessness have spilled,
somehow twisted, into my Soul