Sentinel Poetry Magazine January 2003


Victor Ehikhamenor


Songs Of Orphans

i should write a song to mourn
the death of glory, shouldn't I ?
but the muse has a noose on her neck.
i cant find enough tears to wash away the sorrow
that besiege my heart - like rats,  men chipped away
the fibers that hold home,
plenty jezebels flirting to mock
the strength of Samson... eunuchs
are laughing with rotten teeth.
with swines we  forage forgotten
trash cans to retrieve rotten
bread, honey tastes like damaged bile.
no friends to share the aroma of pollinating bees,
virgins wail their broken hymen by the wicked
proboscis of monstrous masters,
eunuchs have become  grotesque kings.

i growled on the grave of  killers
i weep for you oh my country
i weep for you oh  my continent...
it is so dark and murky i can't find
the voice to call friends--my kinsmen,
it is so dark i feast on my own soul
exile is a pillow of rock
a bed of sand papers - an unstable hammock.
the wind has dispersed us to the four cardinal
points of life - atrocious crossroads
without signs through high tides.
hold my hand brother like a broom binder,
for it is very dark and the sons
of dogs prowl with unshielded daggers and
ready teeth.
protect me Lord from mercenaries
looking for more innocent preys
protect them that have been rendered orphans
in a barren land.

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