For the maids of Chibok

Nightmare in a chimeric splendour
Of ember-hearted pigeons moving aloft to the sunset,
While women, old and young, out of the grainfields,
Bemoan the Seraph of Daybreak in the dunes of nightfall.

Of over two-hundred dove eyes enflamed with blood
Tears in God’s cruet to make pure the cry…

Essence from twilight-petals may we not fail to distill
Of martyrdom of the hundreds of Chibok maids;
That may we dephalliate Bokoharams and by projectiles
Send them homewards where they be the eunuchs of paradise.

Initiated in the age of the stars, violation is an original thing,
When the origin of man, the origin of dawn, was desecrated…
A celestial prenatal profanity of the sacrifice for life,
An incursive cud chewed in the maidens of Chibok and more…

Tell the world, ye sunlarks of the nebulous, that the
Altar of truth is the secret of the beautiful,
That the power of beauty is the precious touchstone
Of righteousness, and truth is the power of beauty
The centre of attraction to the bearers of the
Inconstant blades of justice…

From bloodstain may heaven vindicate her poet,
May beauty uphold all from the fall of grace.

O force of beauty, the centripetal image of the messiah,
Make the midwives of rebirth, in the moontide, dance
To the rhythm of valor weaved by eagle-hearted tattoos
Of the supramaidens of Chibok, and of the ineffable flowers,
Tribute of God to your souls o maids
Feed my terrestrial taste with honey,
Honey made of the nectars of the everliving flowers of the sky.

Simpa Samuel