By Ezekiel Fajenyo
There is horror in the voice of time
tears supplies sorrows in trenches of hunger
I heard some sand- wrapped voice
through the skies of vultures queuing
for daily flesh
on streets trodden by a masked democrat,
a sworn blood- spiller of 30 years…
He fed vultures
in a season of festivities;
vultures wept when he left scene of graft and blood
shrines cursed denied of sumptuous skulls
bloodsucking praise- chanters cursed revolution__
a revolution of empty stomachs
in marketplace of tears,
tears of dried bones,marshes veins,
crashed dreams,decades of empty promises.
When next shall we expect others?
