With the lone mothers in their forties
panicking about the soaked streets
in search of their
With the foetus in
its shrouded sac
choked by the fragrance of anguish
Permeating the whole neighbourhood.
With the moanful birds
In their ageless numbers
chirpping off the nights in lone voice;
invoking the spirit of their motherly ancestors.
With the wheezing mosquitoes by the natives’ joint
cackling melodies of distasteful rhymes
that secrete emotions to the bone marrow.
Of our grandpas’ tomb stones
lying side by side the grave pits of their progenies
who doggedly lost the fights
to the bloody hands of their unapologetic captors.
Of our robust virgin maids
stripped off before their lustful suitors
leaving them to wallow in battered flesh.
And the quake by the plateaux
fast swallowing our farmland,
shredding bamboo sticks off the aging huts
and weighing down our muddy castles
into assembly of rubrics.
Wither the sweet-tongued magic men
who blur our eyes with logs
while savouring our dead fathers’ wine
“We shall castrate them in seconds”
they swore unto high heaven
as thousands catwalk into eternal glory
have the gods forsaken us again?