BRUISES: The Silence —Pawners Paper

Bruises, a poem on the wounds sustained by the victims of the atrocities of the society

BRUISES

Horses neigh

While the birds chirp with a cursed voice

The sky weeps

When the sun burns until the night beckons

Misery wore the cloak of wonders

And the land weeps not for her sake

The world reeks of her deeds

And her hope was shattered into pieces.

Tell me, of which season and time

Shall the mind wander still like a god

When the flesh is an embodiment of terror?

Till the four walls cracks

And the shade darkens?

I guess not. The dreams were slain as they were birthed;

For those who spoke not of the torn panties’ and rough thrust

And those seduced by the lost voice of the hung rope.

The wounds only heals into scars;

For those enslaved by the voices in the head,

And those ripped of their fleshes by the rod of violence

And those who lives the day the same

When the street lends a cent and parents disappears.

They whisper, for the world rarely listens,

For the world only recognizes the suit and the bills

But not the rags and the pleads

They whisper still for their voices are not theirs. 

Written by: Adedeji Raphael

Photo credit: pexels

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