It is Night here by John Chizoba Vincent


It is night in this dead land
Where mothers are the fathers
And the fathers are mothers in fear.
The stony bread of sorrow given to the
Children to eat and die a holy death.

It is dark in this side of the land
Where our pains are seen as sweetened soup,
Never to be ease by any soothing hand of love.
We try all we could but all we could are wasted,
The air moans in a confused state to be seen by all,
Wounds in every angle to be suck by the dogs.

It is night in this unholy land of the holies,
The streets are filled with skulls of hatred,
Houses are occupied by ghost from hell.
Many mouths wagging without lips to buttress;
For the roses meant for tomorrow’s eyes is gone.
It is night in this bottled land graced by fools.

I have been here with recognition,
In this land where demons reign.
I have tasted the blood of the innocent killed by
Those who sees righteousness as a sin at heart.
Many have bitten their lips and welcomed blood,
Detasted aroma circulates in the atmosphere blinding
The nose and leaving the eyes watering.

It is night in this amputated land
Governed by the dragons of the slumed east.
Rain drenched us more in this land than before,
Bleeding soul scattered here and there like grains,
Weeping sun mounted up above our dreams;
It is night in this land where laughter hurts like

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All right reserved VOV 2016


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