We Beseech Thee Poem by Akinwale Peace

We beseech thee. (Kyrielle poem 4)


Thou feed'st us your junk as our bread
And graves could hold our breath as dead;
For been free is bound to be free-
For this rage pain we beseech thee.


For the wild sea sing songs a-hynn
Of echoing rhythms 'go to him'
Or can our thirst give bread to thee?
For this rage pain we beseech thee.


For starved seven days makes one weak
For the times that makes us a freak;
Thirsty throat; rivers can't wet free-
For this rage pain we beseech thee.


Our six feet beneath are deceased
We bury flames not the deceased,
Thousand pains no one could feel 'n' see-
For this rage pain we beseech thee.


A famine where abundance lies;
Oh sweet pain, thou hath rape the wise,
Ne'er too soon, ne'er too late to plea-
For this rage pain we beseech thee.


Pain is a sea whose depth is plain
In sad gladness we make it plain;
With thousand voice' a tongue we plea-
For this rage pain we beseech thee.