Timothy Faboade Poems
Comments about Timothy Faboade
Like worn-out clothes their bodies char
Fires from the frightful suckling barrels
Give them the glorious, gracious garlands
They are now the Lord heroes of the lands
Smiling at the far-fetched laurels in their graves
Though without brazen befitting burials;
Lucky are those left monstrously maimed.
They do not care about the longevity denials.
Some go sullenly without some solemn songs
Save the mourning and somber from tongues
Tongues of the troubled real victims of wars
Who surge in their grieves at their bloods’ flaws.
The error horror of ...
Behold the besieged raffia falling,
The feeble walls bowing to winds
And their invaluable mural fading
Like wafts in the whistling wind,
The contemptuous sun scornfully patters
Against the god's scurvy head,
Thorns, termites, conspicuously compete