I WRITE TO HEAVENS FOR THY NATION(Vi)
The Voices,
that never sat behind high walls
I write of.
Dear Heavens,
I write not of the voices of kings
Not the voice who wear robes,
Nor the voice, who feed on pain.
I write of young voice
that grew from cracks of suffering.
Voice that moves from street
That knows no joy.
Pain spoke for us
Hunger made our speech
Fear won the competition
Silence took the award.
But one day,
the children of the red soil
will find their voice,
Silence will no longer win.
They shall speak not
with swords or bullets
but with hope and song,
banners and dreams.
They shall gather
In one sky
different tribes and tongues
Carrying one burden
one cry, one nation.
Heavens!
Will you hear, when they cry?
Will you listen, when they talk?
While it echoes through streets
like river searching for peace.
Young women holding postcards,
like their life were missing.
Young men stood before fear
And made it their slave,
will you see them?
will you see their hearts?
They have grown tired,
tired of burying dreams,
of bathing in pain,
And pleading with death.
Is this the punishment,
for being a child of this nation?
If this is the punishment,
how do we pay for it?
When history remembers
this generation,
will it remember their pain?
Their courage, or their wounds?
Will you remind them,
of our wounds,
our voice that travels miles
Carrying prayers with pain?
Dear Heavens,
Do remind them of our history.
Funmilayo Bayo
Funmiwrites