The Red On Our Streets Poem by samuel nze

He was his mother's son
Before he joined the army;
He who joins the army
Has no mother.

He has sold his will
To an iron god
That spits fire
And orphans children.

There are many of them
In the barracks;
Orphaned with parents,
Wills sold to iron gods.

Blood is on the streets;
Wine of rebellious arteries,
Freedom fighters
Are imprisoned in battles.

The iron gods
Rule our land;
They take our youth away,
While the umbilical cord remains

Buried under the palm tree,
Upon which are red nuts;
The red of fire in the iron god
Foretells the red of blood on our streets.