For all the 36 States of Pocket Violence by Adesokan Babatunde Walliyullah
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In Kaduna, maybe in Benue
Bodies explode
A whole ocean of blood sluicing
down west, down east
A fume of ashes eclipses the
Raising sun, and,
To the grief of man, a blood moon
Fresh news breaks down the dead
& counts the heads of
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Those whisked away like cattle
The pride stays behind, soul begging
In teary pools, degraded into
People without a government.
To the neonate, grief is a birthright
& this nation an ash tray where
Chain smokers break off the ember
Of violence
