BLOOD OF OUR KINSMEN.


stanza 1 

We wandered on the boulevards
the railway track boulevards
on the mid path of this boulevards
is our nation
No greenery grows on the sides of this boulevards
but sprouting from our actions
and inactions
are the trees of misery on either side, bearing fruits of misery
as we wander on the deserted path
we had no alternative but
to eat from this fruits of misery
nay! it neither satisfies
nor hunger it quenches
but the abdomens it clutches
we continue to wander, emaciated
shrunk and in an endless quest
for a safe haven
below the boulevards, are catacombs, in abandoned farmlands where our unmourned
kinsmen are laid, they went out on lucky days
that put an end to their earthly witness of pain
in the sinking ship of their fatherland,
only to till and sow the blood wet land
manured by sweats, to feed their families
and neighbors, only to be given a royal welcome to the exotic catacombs below, on which we walk and dine and rejoice in agony.

stanza 2
We could hear the tune, the drum tune
tune of the ol' days gone,
but alas! it wasn't the tune, inviting our kinsmen
as days gone, to a meeting to speak, and sing
and laugh and rejoice, at the palace, as days gone, nay! it was a tune from the barrels unforgiving, of guns, mowing down
our kinsmen, while our dubious sit tight elites
custodians of our chambers exotic
dance to the same tune that mown our kinsmen
the air mourns in sorrow, the tides stood still
as we lay our fallen, to their only safe haven
their citadel below, that gives them not
the bliss of the world, but at least saves them
from whipping of the whippers whip
while they lasted in their fatherland,
the birds rejoice, feasting on putrid remains
of our own kinsmen.
In this land we were born, until called upon
by our dubious sit tight elites, to a candelabra
of portions, and gave us gifts fit for the farms,
to till the land, but use it to mown our own
and the nose rings placed on us,
and put us to duel, while they dance and cheer
and applaud, to the sound of our sabre
and the scream of our kinsmen pierced
by the sabre, while we scream in fear
of being pierced by our own sabre.   
 
~Said Abubakar Zhunnurayn.

Fellow Nairalanders, read and Rate my first Poem. Your opinions, commendations and recommendations are all welcome.