I write to heavens for thy nation(Iv)

I WRITE TO HEAVENS FOR THY NATION (IV)  

Dear Heavens,

I write not of the tears  
that flows like Ocean in our dry skin.
the tears still possess life.

Today,  
I write of the red drop  
that has become rivers  
Upon our soil.

That red water that flows from our vein  
It now waters fields with crops,  
instead of rain drops.

The red drop 
Stained the lands of mothers,  
who only yearn to hold  
their children once more.

I write of villages,  
that slept with songs,  
But awoken with gunfire.

Of doors broken before dawn,
footsteps running into forest  
with hope of shield. 
Of names that now lies
in cold gravestones.

How many graves  
thy nation will dig  
before peace remembers our address? 
of passengers who left homes  
with promises of safe trips,
now became our memories.

I write of farmers  
whose land now grow fear,  
more than harvest season.

I write of nights  
where silence has become a warning  
And a barking dog is prophecy.
Where every knock on the door  
is judgement day.

Oh Heavens!  
Have you not seen  
our green grass turn to red
and the blood beneath our green and white?

Have you not heard  
the gentle soil,  
Crying for mercy?

The ground is it witness  
the trees will be the historians  
The wind now carries stories  
too painful  
for a gentle human lips.

Yet, we wake,
And we pray.

Still, we bury our dead  
with trembling faith and hope  
hiding beneath our tears.

How much blood  
must this nation bleed  
before your heavenly peace  
finds our address?

Funmilayo Bayo  
Funmiwrites