Talk,
Talking Drum!
To the youth and restless,
About '66 and gunshots
And the innocent blood that stained the arable land
Of the north,
Talk about Biafra and kwashiorkor,
And mothers hopeless,
And fathers helpless,
About bodies that decomposed where they fell and
Vultures partying in the sky,
Talk about homelessness and the rain that fell at night,
About sabotage and abandoned properties,
And the wickedness in 20 pounds,
And the lip-service of 3 Rs,
Talk about the stories refused to be told,
And the terror in the eyes of the aged
As they shooked their heads and
Looked into the void.
© February 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So sad that history is thus and that the present does not learn. Haunting poem sir. Thank you.