OUR HOME IS BLEEDING

And night comes like a thief, with a gentleness that caresses 
the eyes with a gleaming broken ray written on a brittle glass
disappearing into the horizon like broken sparks of flames,
and then night falls like stars ready to devour our hopes.

The afternoon is dead with barrows lurking in our palms ,
Our dreams down like a warzone burnt into ashes by the 
Bombings in our tongues and throats which our hearts can only hear.

It is a cold coming, our dreams of having a brick over our dangling head,
Ready to be broken into pieces by the muzzle under the bomb of bazooka.

Let there be hopes as the gwagwalada river flows in the tacit lust of 
Our cauliflowers_ drips of the night’s velvets on our sparkling rivulents.

Can we be pieces and faces bonded by unity and aspirations of better future?
Can we be the race with our wings not sunken with only dreams?

Can we be the home to the sweats and blood of our own self?

After this and thats, we could only cuddle our broken spirit in that cocoon
Buried underneath our blankets.
                                     
Let there be a NIGERIA with realms of aspirations in our blood,
Let the great labor of our heroes be not in vanity washed in pain.
Let there be a nation free from the cuff of servitude and pain. 

Tajudeen Muadh Bayo, lightening pen X, is a poet from Nigeria. His works appear forthcoming on magazines including Afrihill Press, Scars Tv and others. He’s also a member of the Hilltops Creative Arts Foundation.