TURMULTS OF 1967

"To the great eagle who died with a leg, A fallen nugget from his golden break."

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Above I watched in solitary and agony,
the war beneath.
Below the city enshrouded
in great turmoil.
Chaos reigns, it's web wax stronger
Death throws its sharp
sickle and reaps a bounty.

Tumulus dotted the earth,
I lost count even.
And the pained wails of
innocent bairns who sought
naught but their mothers.

Alas! The cries of the Igbo women
on futility to rouse their husbands
from eternal sleep.
They throw themselves
upon the earth in anguish
And lament in pain and gnash
their teethes.

The tumult of war
is deafening from beneath
The Alamajiris wields coughing Dane guns
And before them, every living soul fall in their numbers
The Alamajiris have cold hearts of stone
They have no mercy - they slaughter with aggression
Determined, they sought to wipe blank the Igbo folks
Explosions after explosions.

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The Alamajiris wields red fire stones
Burning homes - screaming families engulfed in flames
Charred bodies later, yet massacre walks aloft
Headless men, breast-less women and gored children
In crimson pools of their own life.

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The smokes from burning towns rise over mountains,
I could taste embittereness in each strand.

The survivors make for the borders
where the solitary light of hope burned dimly in darkness
Many did not make the race - not alive
The enemies cut them short with shinning daggers
And glistening swords and spurting guns.

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The littered corpses of the Igbo dots the earth
And vultures swooping in to clarion call.

Had the Alamajiris not killed enough yet?.

Slaughter Is not amiss
Nothing with a soul did they pass by, nor miss,
I cry till the tears would flow no more.

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They say there was never a story of more woe than that of Romeo and Juliet
But mine is a memory, a situation most dire
Death and slaughter as solid as eiffels tower.

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weep, oh earth, weep and lament
For the blood of the innocent has been spilled upon thee.

Behold, I wept with the earth
But we did not weep in solitude
The heavens wept greatly with us

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The rain came,
It washed the salty tears and the scarlet
And quenched the burning soul of the dead city.
But it could not wash the memory
or raise the 'zarus.

The poetry is inspired by @edith4angelseu and @surpassinggoogle, thank you.

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