Why would we watch a moon die?



As we swing on the sands, our shadows darken,
Like a country In chaos, leftsided.

Tonight, the moon cries about something outside herself,
four miles away…On a cloud that parts her in idyll of blues.

Egoistic enough,
the cloud only feeds the Akiri lake with his reflection.
We watch him dragging –
he shoves the moon to behold another apocalypse.

And Mama told us to be quiet. Quiet?
“Hush! No noise in Africa.
Peace is a silent bystander”

But pain isn’t a prickle of a neddle.
if it is … Even a child could bear the pierce of a prick.

Pain isn’t the lash of a master’s Koboko.
If it is… Bruises could be wrapped;
my little girl utterly spiffs up a wound.

But, pain is a calamity; always haunting.
Like abnormal outsiders, cosmically dressed;
Like deported ghosts from heaven’s border.

This pain is internal.
Like an onion- a mother of endless birth.

Why would we watch a moon die like this?




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What do you think?

  1. I must be sincere, you are a goo writer, poet.

    Your use of imagery and symbolism showcase your talent.

    You’re too much Emi.

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