LINES At the funeral of a country they hang the necks of men Who swallow the stones of words as they spit anger like a snake Whose belly is a home of charms at the funeral of a country we raise a mast to mock the songs of fathers whose lips leak lies like oil pipes in Porthacourt or Olu-Obiri ii at the funeral of a country they give the poet a bomb to make a call or a pen to trace the tribe of murderers whose attires reek of blood and tears Tell them that the rage of a poet is in the gourd of poetry is in the light that sparkles when we nail the night of elegy to the cross of memory.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Mar 2014 09:21:07 +0000
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