Lost For Words Poem by GEORGE AMADI

Lost For Words



Three frail-looking, seven-year-old boys,
Lost for words in a brutal, costly war,
Living from hand to mouth,
Day by day, at check-points grovelling,
Begging for their lives to be spared,
On this rainy day, alas,
For the remains of their mother,
Suspected to be rotting in the rubble,
Couldn’t help but search,
Leaving no stone unturned.

In all directions flew war-heads
Piercing through doors
That once stood locked
And smashing
Window panes to smithereens
But Ali, oldest of the children,
Not caring where ordnance chose to land
Or whom to pummel,
And have life snuffed out of them,
Even if such deaths
Unnoticed ever will remain,
On the highway sat,
Quick death
His miserable life will claim, hoping.

A hardy, three-wheel motor-bike,
With a passenger caravan in tow
From out of the blue,
Through a war-weary landscape rumbled,
Coming to a spluttering halt
In front of boys now scared out of their wits
And then, to their consternation,
A freaky voice
Their brother’s name, Musa, shrieked.

After three hours of hell,
Bombardment, source of its fire,
A family, bereft of its leader,
Travelling at break-neck speed,
Unto a refugee camp
Nestled in a border town
Of a neighbouring country,
From the bone-shaker of a vehicle alighted.

“Mother, you saved the day, ”
Baba, the youngest boy said,
Relief written all over his dusty face;
The triplets unto their mommy’s bosom cleaved,
They, more like from hell back to earth,
She, delighted, couldn’t but think
It was all a dream.

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