Wrinkled Petals




My country's image is waning
Each passing day.
What can we make of her
Coat of rags?
Let's burn her shadow and
Make us a tattoo of grief,
Epitaph hugging her obituary
Consternation in silence.

That riotous beauty sought after
all over:
Scorching deserts to
creaky creeks,
Plateau tops to
plain greens -

Even the rains have lent in their cries
Witnessed on the faces of charred victims
Whose offsprings:
Benue -
Wail each day till their throats run dry;
Till their famished mothers
No longer hold high bony fists
Above pale faces.

Evolution of vultures:
Ant-infested faggots are up in arms;
What's the fate of the fetcher?

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  • Doggerel Dave

    A cannot understand all the circumstances you refer to here - how could I? However I see it as a powerful piece of writing, and if I have interpreted you halfway correctly, a shout of rage.
    Thanks Ifean

    • Ifeanyichukwu

      Hi Dave, the poem is a sad commentary on the atrocious killings by bandits and terrorists in my country. The worsening state of insecurity in my country is taking it's toll on the citizens. It's impact is spreading and felt all over.

    • jarcher54

      Such a powerful image of a beautiful people in crisis. I hear the wailing, see the frail fists, and smell the foul breath of the vultures.

      • Ifeanyichukwu

        Jarcher54, indeed appreciative of your interpretation and feeling our plight over here. Regards!

      • L. B. Mek

        'Scorching deserts to
        creaky creeks,
        Plateau tops to
        plain greens -'..
        simply, Brilliant!
        'what is poetry
        but emotions sang proudly
        exclaiming with insightful commentary
        all that dreary bleak of our reality
        witnessing humanity's re-hashed legacy
        of cyclical history'

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