The Hotsphere
The harmattan here is filled with rain
The night has come with radiant sun
And the dawn refuses, in fear of pain
And fowls at night do play with guns
The moon hangs and beams the dark
Pregnant clouds do shed but blood
The owls bleat and the hawks bark
The battle in the sky results in flood
A colourless rainbow appears above
And women bear grey-headed kids
The Moon, the sun rolls in hateful-love
Fathers and sons throw farewell bids
In the rain, in the sun, it is all alike
And the clouds lour as if to burst
The spear poses in a way to strike
The dagger as well, it is full of thirst
Alas, the war is here, the war is there
In fierce battlefield, termites arrive
Who needs eyewear to steer the fear
When eagles part to keep alive?
With no bodyguard, don't join the war
For the front is hot, it needs the brave
And the hazy dust is thick with sore
It is not as a camp in all-night rave
I can join in the war but I have no arm
I can strike, I can kill but I have no gun
No forte, no hands to carry firearm
Think not coward, for I am not the one
But my mouth at work to do its best
To call the Lord to render full-peace
And bring the row, the clash to rest
So the shots, the hots come to cease
Kehinde Bashir Akinola
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 10/20/2019
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