No letters to transcribe your pains, no voice to cry your cry.
What colors have intense pain, burns from bombed bodies,
ashes from dreams botched and downed by herdsmen,
fire-razed farmlands, deserted homes and the wools of infant future
infinitely sailing on the errant wind?
I pick sad notes for lyrics and gather requiem signs in my poems,
dirge is the full screen of a heart that let love rule it,
rustling like leaves floating through the polluted air. This love
that harvests deaths aplenty on this land, this love that stands
naked as green shrubs in sandstorm of wreck and wraith…
A Song of Pains floats, comes in weak stressed muffles, unaccented
by expert tongues, before it grows more numbness to expression,
muted song of pains, reeling in this goitre of self-sounds.
As much as I want to knit with light the darkness of your lyrics,
no letters to transcribe your pains, no voice to cry your cry
and weave this pain into stressed syllables,
coursing through the defiant zones of power.
No letters to transcribe the suffering of the heart
onto which, the sodden tracks, leave scars as memories.
image source; flickr
About the author
Ndubuisi Martins (Aniemeka) who resides and writes from Ibadan, has had his poems published in literary journals, anthologies and writing websites in Nigeria, Britain and America. His first book of poetry One Call, Many Answers is, largely, in a digital format and available on Amazon and other allied online bookstores.