I stare at her for a while,
I wish to plait her poem of love
Paint rainbows, quiet skies sailing, and butterflies;
Smells of Jukun scent of crimson and rose sprout
That she may dance for love,
Dancing to the rhythms of valley bluebirds songs!
I wish to close my eyes and sight her smiling for love
No rumble of bullets rapping on her roof as ice blocks from the sky
As she tells me tales of love at the farm;
Not those of bullets or missiles exploding on her roof
But my pen is trapped in the jaw of Boko Haram’s sea of woes
How can I weave my poem?
Puddle of blood on her path home
And she sobs in throes,
Bombs are hurtling and hurtling each day and night;
Swimming in a lake of his own blood
She scrunches up!
And bequeaths with infinite mournings