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    The uncle in whose hands you left us
    Is cannibalizing us
    He has turned us into animals
    Led us to a foreign land
    For his enemies to slaughter
    And while we scream so painfully
    You and mother squabble too loudly
    To hear us crying
    We are the ones that are dying.

    Here, lying by this pool of blood
    My blood, your blood
    Spilled on this foreign land
    By this blood I swear;
    If you do not seek redress for me
    Because uncle is family
    By my warm dying blood
    I curse you mother
    I curse you father

    I curse you.

    ©  Alexander Ikawah

    Writer and Film-maker who intends to improve the quality of local Film/TV content & find new ways of generating & maintaining earnings in local Film/TV biz.

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    Death has not won…May the souls of the Fallen Heroes rest in peace

    Emmanuel Taracha

    In the thicket, a soldier cries

    In the copse
    Lie many corpses
    Too many dead soldiers
    The enemy killed them like poachers

    Like a knight
    He came in the dead of the night
    Who will come to their rescue
    He remembers their last barbecue

    The smile of his daughter
    Happy family filled the air with laughter
    His people he so much misses
    The children and the missus

    His mind wanders
    And he wonders
    Who will take care of his family
    And give his children a homily

    Commander said not yet time to get out
    Today he lies in the bush bleeding out
    He remembers the day he passed out
    His patriotism the enemy’s bullet will not knock out

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