Tell me, Lover

AM I easy to love when I drop,

stoop-

into the whispers?

AM I easy to love when i close the blackness and roll

between the shapes of was and is?

AM I easy to love when i choose the easier reflections against the

loud chants of “as The Man”?

AM I easy to love when its more about the open, the opening

and the blindness within?

Tell me, lover.

The forgotten

The young boy who silently witnessed his mothers slaughter-

He sits at the edge of my bed and wails a most dreadful wail.

Their voices pierce through my borrowed peace.

Those lost children hovering, those motherless and fatherless.

They will seek revenge, this they have promised.

And the childless?

I saw the seeds of vengeance sprouting through the heart of one woman-

her infant torched before her eyes.

The father helpless to the greedy and violent lust over his beloved daughter-

He sits in the far corner, muttering the words of Socrates and Soyinka.  

They seek me in the spirits of many midnights  to open their heavy packages of sorrow-

The horrors their eyes have seen but their heart can never comprehend.

Their belief is that they are the forgotten peoples of a once great but crumbling nation.

Their haunted eyes, I wish I could erase-

But I cannot.