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 

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

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