In Honour Of Our Gallant Heros
In bleating sound of echoing guns,
Unstopped to 'n' fro traveling of unseen bullets,
And banging bashing smashing bombs.
Those tympanicing clangs we shunned,
Triggers pulled like mere crickets,
The bloom was doomed for our tombs.
Dashed fears,
Caged Worries,
Barricaded nervosity.
To stinking littered corpes; we covered our nares,
wiped our memories of home sweet stories,
As we killed and buried our curiosity.
Kpa!
Instead of a goodbye,
That was the last word he heard,
As he lay battling to breathe.
Mutedly, he tried to dry the cry,
Those grave-dispatching bullets Spears into his head,
As he prefusely bleed.
His last words!
Tell our government,
This battle wasn't necessary.
If they do give a reply,
Tell them of our everyday torment,
And how they were killed, so many.
Tell those fuelling this crisis,
Sponsors and advocates of wars,
Men in black suits and those with Apada.
Warn them of the unchanged Nemesis,
Of turning this water source sore,
In exchange for cheap Akara.
Tell Musa, Bola and Emaka,
Not to want to be like me,
For daily I yearn to be like them.
Tell my sister, my mother and then my father,
For their safety; with my life I payed the fee,
Not for fame but for a good name.
Tell war to embrace peace,
Hatred to harbour Love,
And division to accommodate unity.
So we can all live in ease,
Even though it will be hard or tough,
Let peace reign in our country
Finally,
Tell God to please accept my soul,
Though in my very two hands,
Dripping stains of human blood,
And those lives I with my guns stoled,
Dispatching them untimely to the sands,
Say it with sincerity, Have Mercy On Him Oh! God.