*sic*
Don’t sow the seeds of a tree on the war path,
Where missiles dance above the shrubs,
A charred gazelle, what purpose shall it serve?
A poignant reminder of lessons unlearned,
As men propel their rockets of ego,
Lying within the same breath, discord prevails.
Dissonance echoes, apostles chant Armageddon,
Yet the gospel remains unfinished,
Chariots rise upon Gaddafi’s resting body,
Until the last drop of cobalt weeps in Congo,
Niger has tasted the fervor, as has Soweto,
Africa’s plumage, in Sotheby’s frigid hall, thaws its last.
Warn the redskins against naming a fellow by the slur,
Or prodding him with the perils of embracing carbon.
Poem by Fortune Omosola ( Warpath:2024 )
