Prose

Bullets

 

It’s a drizzling night of bullets,
Bullets inscroll scrolls of sober land;
They boast, drink and bop into the first quota of the night,
And threatens death like furious lions.

Perhaps famished tigers around dead pig
As they croon occult songs with spell,
Around bare streets like cemetery,
Looming in fog of a stormy sky.

We are engulfed in a seismic night,
Roar- divides hills, sinks into monstrous valleys!
The dark valley calls for blood
Our houses, streets, dribble from deluge of our blood.

Our pain splits into hope,
Thus seek the reticent of valley-gull before it drowns us all!
We are soldiers of circumstances
Defending our defenseless selves.

(C) Umar Osabo
May, 2018

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