Open your Bible to Saint John 11:35
Somewhere at the junction of fate and survival let’s see the guiltless tears quaking this messed land!
Old sweat of the saints gathered
Ancient blood of the cross stood
And the curtain broke into two
Cracking the raven of the blind side of a land pouring an old wine into a new bottle.
If there is a God, it is obvious he’s weeping
for my country home.
Karma is home again &oblivion of its glories
Shall tame this burning flames of Christ tears.
Are the Saints still crying of their betrayed shadows?
Nigeria left us a sad song to be swallowed into our mouth like the body of Christ.
How do we spell genocide?
How do we write jungle justice on a paper?
Are the Chibokgirls back from Sambisa forest?
I never knew tears have voices too until
they are adapted in the chronicle of emptiness.
When we started from genesis,
We sighted those broken bridges in exodus
Parting the morals to see death multiplying.
And Jesus wept, not for sin but for a home like ours.
Yet, every night we burn incenses before sleep
Hoping that each dawn we’ll see through those illusion in the tears my home brings.
Yet, Jesus still weeps for a land my leaders made a public forest of pleasure.
My home: your face is now walking behind a black sun!
We’ll cease to make ourselves pillars of death.
©John Chizoba Vincent