IMAGE MAKER -BY BADA YUSUFF AMOO

We paint holy pages
With songs of war
To liberate falling consciousness
From the tyrant of a bleeding pen
Who we build nation on its tail

Somewhere behind reality
Mouths gagged with bereavements
Arranging the masses notes
In the warple western wallets
And cloak our thunder in a panic

We promised to celebrate victory
Face ultimate test of devotion
Accept all unidentified labels
The commandants of all battlements
All violence. The fences continue falling

At the shore of obscurity
The exile beacons our rising
Trying to split bitterness
On the rejecting rock
Who steps out of our mirror

Truly, we much withhold the Aristotle
Maxism theory, the Karl Marx…
Foul absoluteness on dynamic cloud
And caress each others’ back
With thorn fingers sometimes

The Smiths move toward a place
The corners of Ninety Eighty Four
Vision searing our flesh
The clown colony of poverty
And forget the herald of Maiduguri’s fallings

The odour of emotional stabs
And the rattling of exile
Fling open our defeat
Inflates the price of water
And darkness soon will return

Against our defeated bones
Our eyes turn tragic, capsizing
The sky loses its denouncement
Rain turns harmattan in broken calendar
Without dust to wear us solar suits

Our defeat is vertical
The compellation of bitter boundary
That distances our dreams and fairness
The equators do not adjust their steps
Having no need to sole our injuries

Our advocacy silence in derision
Some advocates in corners to cohabit
Like north and south at Dasuki gate
And others in another place
Memorizing the stanzas of exile

  

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