Have you not seen death enough?
Innocent bodies streaming the floor.
Have you not sent death errand enough?
Your special convoy at war ceremonies.

Strangled justice,
Broken glasses of peace
Shattered on bare land,
Piercing through the feet of helpless legs.
Chained fairness,
Sparking thunder of calamities, clashing in the sky,
Makes despair souls thrust into their ears fingers.

Marauders! How market?
How well about the advertisement of pools of blood?
Do you see people patronize the helpless bodies?
What about the ball like?
Do footballers love them?
Design with pitiful hair,
Crying eyes,
Silent mouths, do they love them?

Marauders! How market?
Is profit your gain? Creating public awareness about your butchering,
Do you now dwell in clover?
Is rest of mind your lover?

Marauders! How government?
I see you fulfill your painful promises,
That travels your lying lips
To building millions of public abodes for human guests,
I see you didn't collect a dime for it,
But you demanded their body guests.

Marauders! I can hear their cries,
Deep beneath their dwelling tenement,
Where darkness and sadness rules.
Loud and clear I can hear their outcries,
Perturbing the souls of the living.

Marauders! I thought the abattoir had closed,
I thought the hell like had stopped,
I thought the showering bullets had rested
I thought the perils had gone,

So they went to rest.

*Ismail Junaid Oluwadamilare*
*Paciolo Pen Saint*