Saturday, July 3, 2010

African War Drums

Deserted streets, lined with broken bill boards
The trees shriek, and shed leaves, anticipating an acidic rainfall
The asphalt leaks, and reeks of blood from skulls and broken jaws
Faint, but dreadful chants cut through the skin tingling air
Building up slowly, a potent brew of dejection and despair
Witnessing an uncle shot, a father rot, psychological damage that last unrepaired
Strong hearted, but overwhelmed, because she's unprepared
For the odyssey that even grown men feared
The last survivor, alone, scared and shivering, wondering if they ever cared
About anyone besides themselves, and their exotic fares
A tear meanders down her cheeks, her soul weeps, clearly of the knowledge it isn't fair
Certain the instigator is in shoes that gleam, stepping into pompous air
Unscratched, priming up a blood sucking bunch of heartless hiers
It cuts accross, a universal phenomenon of sharp edged swords that taints the world
Her hunger defined cheeks become moist and glisten
Tears rush down her face in pools as she relates to Ann Frank, because only she can listen
The air thinkens with chants that grow louder... louder...
She grits her teeth, sinking her molars deeper into her gums, as if the grind will bring forth a miraculous powder
Thats about as likely as her ever tasting an elixir, but she's said her prayers
She sees cadavers lying on top of each other in layers
And what ever happens, she hopes it's quick and painless
So she can wear a different suit hemmed by angelic tailors
And finally leave this choking place that will forever be in the palm of barbaric sailors.

Copyright © David Kwakye 2010

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