The cry

The cry

The dead of the night
They stole up a march and put out their lights
The guns were brazen and the fracas amazing
For we ran like gazelles and into unsafe havens
They rained all their bullets and raised up their amulets
As if to crinkle our souls , to make us less bold
To heighten our fears and make our minds fold
They cowed us to submission
We stared back in admission
For the fields of the land bore witness to destruction .
Our hills looked on
As though they were weary ,
From the pain of our suffering and the trod of our running .
But we stood afar and we looked up to the heavens
And with great prayer and ammunition , we fought back our devils .
They scampered to safety
With all signs of anxiety
we rejoiced and danced
And offered ourselves
For the battle was won
Not for us …. but for the torn .

Nkemjika Okeke

A poem dedicated to victims of war and clashes

No thoughts yet on “The cry” by Nkemjika Uzodinma (@Nkemji123)

Leave a Reply