JOS

Serene could best describe the place.
A melting pot where the divine met the normal
Bodies clustered within a sixteen by twenty room,
White plastered walls, chandeliers glinting in golden morning ray,
Hands clutching worn text filled with inspired words
And hearts clinging together through peace gestures to the chest.

Bloods boiled and hate overflowed
A sudden appearance of the Oro masquerade in broad daylight.
Sharp blade slashed through the air,
Drawing blood from the heads of sheep's while the shepherd seemed helpless.
Weak low pitch screams uttered with throats spluttering the reddish ichor of zoes.

Take a time out to pray.
Little orphans with gaunt eyes flanked by sleep deprived widows with frail frames.
Oiled wicks lighted at the broken altars.
Hushed prayes uttered under faded hoodies.
Tear streams flowing over bloodied bricks,
Dying hopes inflamed with fans of help extended.
Receding faiths lured out by sweet words uttered by the warriors bellowing on their knees.
#Bashorun

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