Mourning our dead – an Ode

By Nana Frema Busia

The Skies were painted black

I was grieving, copious grieve

Weeping and weeping as though an entire nation were dead

I felt desolate, destitute in my soul

Fathers, Mothers, children and even those yet to be born

Executed by ineptitude in the womb of doom

Charred to the bone, defaced, dehumanized, detonated in a blazing fury of fire

In a consummate moment of sadness, fragile humanity is consumed

Reduced to charcoal, searing d holes in the hearts of the living

The rain came down in unstoppable frenzy, pounding relentlessly for hours on end

As though a demon of vengeance had been set lose with a mission to destroy

Desperate soundings of thunder and shrieks of lightening confronted bewildered skies

Plotting s of death hatched for decades were unleashed

To expose our hidden sins to the entire world out there

A contorted reckoning for undelivered promises

Of projects that have failed to see the light of day

So we mourn our dead today, for three days

The oppressive country that devours itself,

Eats up children and leaves bones charred in a debris of infinite pain

Yes, we weep copiously for our dead

Our intoned dirges criss-cross and penetrate the dawn

Like drawn daggers piercing the mundane skies

We shed tears in torrents with raw emotions of pain

Our frenzy of wails rise to a crescendo of woe

But the dead are still, unmoved by our cacophony of mourning

Our delude of tears make no impression whatsoever

Our murderous conscience defy absolution

Because our stars are black

Our skies are dark

Turbulent rains, without drains

Lays bare our dreaded fate

Poor souls have scorched and are dead

Waisted in the floods of our neglect

As we shed tears of deep regret

Cleanse our hearts oh Lord our God

Galvanize our grieve in a healing streak

Let development speak, for peace we seek

busiafordemocracy@yahoo.com