BENUE KILLINGS: MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY

Acrimonious bones, keep calm.
And, be as gentle as the night moon.
Bury the disastrous voices of warmongers,
for when it comes, they'll flee
just as the daylight-boastful eagle
flee the presence of the dark sky.
Block your ears to every reveille,
but unblock your ears widely,
to the chants of archaic casualties.

Let not the stench that emanates,
from the honey mouth of a putrid
living cadaver lead you,
for the dungeon is close and subtle.
Stay warily and strongly harken
to the chants of my grandmother.

Revile not the past casualties,
for experience teaches solely.
My grandmother's chants revives,
in pain, loss, and caution.

Quietly donate your senses to the chants,
be not bemused.
The beneficiaries of your labour,
might turn to fertilize your dappled earth.

Rivulets of brine will smoothly course,
coupled with great velocity
from your sockets to your earth,
when realizations are belated.

Hear the chants of my grandmother!
Oh! listen to the chants of peace.
Listen to the songs of our roots,
And turn not deaf ears to our panegyrics.

You'll be left to cover
your loved ones in sand;
a quantum leap of sorrow,
an advancement in your elegy.

Hear the chants of my grandmother,
listen to the chants of peace.

© AMODU, ABIDEEN DAVID.

Sighs