LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS' KILLING CRY (Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)

                                        

 

LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY

(Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)

 

I no longer hear

the screams of the young girls

nor the whimpering

of their little brothers—

only the echoes of falling tears

of grieving widowed mothers

and the muffled shhees

to new born babes—

 

How much longer

must I awake

to another morning

I wish I never lived to see?

A horizon whose plains

are dotted with earthen keloids

of humpbacked graves

in makeshift cemeteries

where food crops once grew;

horizons reminiscent of

the scared skins

of the weary backs of slaves. 

 

Another damn day deranged

brothers roaming, ravaging, raping

their sisters and slitting mothers’ throats— 

Driven by a demonized illusion

of the Nile goddess of fertility,

and further intoxicating themselves

with chalices of their families’ blood.

 

Brainwashed and mind warped

 as if by a crazed neocolonial

good luck fetish—

are these who’ve lost the free

in freedom like those who sold the in

in independence—lackeys

to and of ancient slave masters

who’ve learn well

the western ways of deception.

  

Unmoved and no longer

grievously concerned,

the world mesmerizes itself

with a deceived sacrilege image

of a revered Nile goddess—

 

Meanwhile, no longer news worthy

wretched of the earth sisters

continue to suffer ethnocentric

rape and “gendercide”

from their hoodwinked brethren.