Boko Haram Poem by Melody Thaila Kuku

Blood, fresh red blood,
Everyday i smell it.
Foul stench of humans,
Slaughtered like cattles,
And we accept it.
It's part of our lives now,
What can we do?
I hear men say.

Heads rolling,
They have been surprised by mean cutlasses,
Flesh of mortals blown to bits.
Bits of someone's beloved.
Tears of the bereaved claw the air,
The stink of death,
As each day churns out widows,
Each moment, the fatherless.

Up North is desolate,
Ethnic clashes turned to religious cleansing,
Men and women whose souls have become one with the soil,
But who were not given birth to by the soil,
Are denied the freedom to breathe the air of the land the
Called home.

Leaders turn blind eyes,
The man on the chief seat shakes a Weak head and trots off,
To spend the masses sweat.
We haven't remembered him yet.
The time would come when the
Poor will have no flesh to feed on
But our Leader's.

Boko! And men flee at the sound.
Lord let them not remember my
Dwelling,
A prayer of the poor,
But who are they?
Beasts!
And who are we?
Men?
I think not.

When death becomes inevitable,
Fear will lose strength,
Why fear what killeth?
If you fight or not?
But i will never dream the dreams
Of a coward.

Give me a gun,
Teach me to shower bullets on
The serial Beasts,
Who read Holy Books on mortals
They butcher.

I'll rather fight,
Than see the blood flow.
If i must,
Then i must.
And will break the dreaded curse,
The curse of Boko Haram.

Let my blood match their blood,
My anger, theirs,
My zeal for my country
With their zeal for madness.