When Giants Speak Of Peace Poem by Henry Igbinedion

When Giants Speak of Peace

They came with careful language first,
the two great nations of iron and fire.
Their flags were tall,
their fleets restless on distant seas.

They spoke of danger.

They spoke of weapons hidden in mountains,
of secret fires buried beneath desert stone,
of threats that must be stopped
before tomorrow could arrive.

So they said.

Messengers were sent.
Tables were set for negotiation.
Hands were shaken beneath bright lights
while the world watched politely.

But behind the curtains
bombers were already awake.

They said patience had limits.
They said security demanded action.
They said history would judge them kindly
for striking before the storm.

And then the sky broke.

Missiles wrote their arguments in flame.
Cities trembled beneath the weight of metal.
Hospitals lost their windows.
Schools lost their roofs.
Children learned the sound
of distant thunder that never brought rain.

The weaker nation burned
while the powerful ones spoke of necessity.

They called it defence.
They called it prevention.
They called it the price of peace.

But the wounded nation did not disappear.

From its ashes rose anger.
Not strong enough to crush giants,
but sharp enough to reach
the friends who stood beside them.

Across deserts and seas
their retaliation travelled—
toward bases, allies,
toward every hand that held the ladder
for the giants to climb.

And the world watched again.

Two powerful nations
speaking the language of justice
while cities turned to dust.

And a wounded nation
answering in the only language
left to the broken.