The Blood Of Jesus Poem by Preston Mwiinga

The Blood Of Jesus



The sound of gunshots woke me up. It's not sweet aroma of the flowers I am sniffing but the chocking teargas. Rushing to the scene, it's another deadly story. Dark clouds have continued falling on mother Zambia, characterized with brutal murders; we call them `Ma Set` ‘bajuba ma set'

Eyes plucked out like they are plucking mangoes, Ears chopped like they potatoes on a chopping board,
Heart resect like it is ablacata blacata magic
Genitors removed like they are removing the former President's immunity.
They are cut into sets like it's the animals entering two by two into Noah's ark. This is not watching a horror movie the hammer house of horror, but reality.
Our eyes are like a delta of water in the desert. Our faces are clumpy like the Kaleni hills.
Our Skins have turned red like a lady dressed in red in readiness for valentines.

Our blood will not save you but Jesus' blood will.

Saturday, July 23, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: blood,jesus
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