Like a familiar song, Once again it croons. Like a familiar scene, Once again it plays. New ascending smoke, And littering corpses. Like to a fairy tale, The world listens In bemused silence, As mayhem plays Another tragic tale Of this "giant" nation. Another once again, Children are orphans, Wives are widows, Breadwinners gone, Families are torn, As mourning reigns. The writing and killing, Sensible or senseless, I will not judge, but How shall I answer The query of friends? Ask: why did it happen? So I search myself, To find some answers, But deep as I dig, I am lost in thought, About hateful anger, And contempt for lives. So I take to street, For a prayer house, But the churches are gone, Like a few mosques burnt. The ones still standing, Stand idle and empty. So now I wonder, If leaders and clerics, Discard their roles, And choose to join, The murderous crowd, Who will pray for this country? So now I wonder, If leaders and clerics, Choose to inspire The evil in men, To hate and kill? Who will pray for this country? THE EPILOGUE But I am bent on praying, So I must find a holy house, But how long shall I search? And when I do find one, Who shall lead the prayers? With clean hands and heart? But I am bent on praying, So I must find a holy man, Sworn to lead in peace and love, But all I see are tainted men, So called leaders and clerics. Who will pray for their flock? But I am bent on praying, So I must find the word of God, To help me know how to love, How to be kind, and to forgive, How not to judge or condemn, But to see God in all and sundry. Dedicated in condolence to all those affected in one way or another by the recent anti-Miss World tragedy in Nigeria. Oliver Mbamara, Esq. © 2002 |
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BACK TO TOP Poems of Soul.com Copyright 2002 |
Like a familiar song, Once again it croons. Like a familiar scene, Once again it plays. New ascending smoke, And littering corpses. Like to a fairy tale, The world listens In bemused silence, As mayhem plays Another tragic tale Of this "giant" nation. Another once again, Children are orphans, Wives are widows, Breadwinners gone, Families are torn, As mourning reigns. The writing and killing, Sensible or senseless, I will not judge, but How shall I answer The query of friends? Ask: why did it happen? So I search myself, To find some answers, But deep as I dig, I am lost in thought, About hateful anger, And contempt for lives. So I take to street, For a prayer house, But the churches are gone, Like a few mosques burnt. The ones still standing, Stand idle and empty. So now I wonder, If leaders and clerics, Discard their roles, And choose to join, The murderous crowd, Who will pray for this country? So now I wonder, If leaders and clerics, Choose to inspire The evil in men, To hate and kill? Who will pray for this country? THE EPILOGUE But I am bent on praying, So I must find a holy house, But how long shall I search? And when I do find one, Who shall lead the prayers? With clean hands and heart? But I am bent on praying, So I must find a holy man, Sworn to lead in peace and love, But all I see are tainted men, So called leaders and clerics. Who will pray for their flock? But I am bent on praying, So I must find the word of God, To help me know how to love, How to be kind, and to forgive, How not to judge or condemn, But to see God in all and sundry. Dedicated in condolence to all those affected in one way or another by the recent anti-Miss World tragedy in Nigeria. Oliver Mbamara, Esq. © 2002 |
Who Will Pray For This Country? By Oliver Mbamara |
