Writing Frenzy (group project)

How possibly

Can the Prince of Peace

Calm all the storms and tempests

In this dispensation down?

 

How,

We ask,

Can this bitter root

Of eternal lies

Be uprooted from our backyards?

 

How long

Must we drink

From the pot of ignorance

While dark clouds form

Above our humble abode?

 

How long

Shall the thirsty palm wine tapper

Be denied a drink

From his own calabash?

The coal pot

Now fears its own ash

At night,

I feel the might of a clear mood

Coming from a shattered sight

 

The promise

Of storm-less skies

Calls me ever on

Toward the horizon

Where my hopes are shattered,

The future made bleak

And my bio-root threatened

 

My search is nearing a sad end

My dreams spiral down into a dark ravine

These dreams

Leave me eating my fufu with fire

 

The far-off sight

Of the stilled adukuro mu nsuo

Leaves my throat calling for help

A call to the ancestors

Who masticate serenity

In their shrine

We Call

We Cry

We Plead

 

Give us reason

 

Give us...

 

Peace