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Inya Richard Poem
Slain without swords they are
Though the airy wordly air
They inhale yet in graceless lack
Behold in the colony of wretchedness
Naked children begging alms
From brothers-not brothers
See as flies soar above sores
On their broken soles pus to lick
From the leaking flesh of starving souls
Don't their ribs tell the origin of bones?
Aren't worms molesting their intestines?
Don't they a place share in the supreme likeness?
Deserted cold gutter-side is their safe haven at night
And without meals they exit in multiple batches
To account for the trilemma of their ragged souls
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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Inya Richard Poem
Under cover lay they
And in the blink of a jiffy
Fled death from lethal nozzles
And within that jiffy
Like stones
Lay all that lived lifeless.
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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Inya Richard Poem
Are my eyes not dazzled
Dazzled by the brilliance
The brightness of your countenance
The countenance of your beauty
The beauty of an angel
An angel of songs
The songs you sang
That embarked upon a journey with me
Into a distant land of sleep.
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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Inya Richard Poem
Behold we toiled
Soiling our skins
expending our strength
Breaking our bones
Sweating like covers of hot pots
Toiling, soiling, expending,breaking and sweating
Yet all was vanity and yet would be
Where God toils not with us
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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Inya Richard Poem
Heralded by the sounds of guns
They came like an ill-wind
Sweeping towards our choices
we fled and upon return
Blood, blood every where was seen
The gun of thunder boomed
Onthe trunk of the toads
We were the toads
Whose choices sunk under-feet
our ballot boxes departed
With the servants of the masters
The lords of our time
Children sent by fathers to steal
We the the Nannies shall go mourning
For the truth has departed
Our choices have departed
The ballot boxes have gone
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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Inya Richard Poem
When they wanted us
In the mildest of gaits
They came to us
With what we had not as baits
We settled on bags of rice and salt
Purchasing for our faces insult
For their baits we swllowed
And in their nets we wallowed
When for food we cast into a bin
Our voice or choice
Our all-important being
Worths not more than toys
Copyright © Inya Richard | Year Posted 2007
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