Crying on The Rifle

Written by: lucky okoedion

                             Bombarded, in the public
                             we dip our fingers in our eyes, unknowingly. Patriotic?
                             Anthemsinging before the media, but
                             disappearing tearssheding in our hearts' secretplaces.
                             Or suicidal? Or selfdecieving?
                              Selfdestruction-forced foreign dependence.
                             The giants that we are,
                             washing with tears our destroyer in our bosom.
                                                    *
                              shed in secretplaces are our tears,
                              like blood of soldiers that march to enslave easygoers,
                              in campaign for pseudopeace.
                              Like future of those poverty-stripped civilians
                              that vote in militants,
                              and liveon bulletseverdodging.
                                                     *
                              Like names of elder statesmen,
                              who for our national security
                              set the city on fire
                              and travel abroad.
                                                     *
                               Fingers disconnected from nerves,
                               and bullet-riddled minds
                               groping in the ruins
                               of a keeping-peace site;
                               site of easygoing hostcivilians
                               whom foreign peacekeepers force peace upon,
                               dismantle in psyche and skeletonstrip.
                               And still say
                               'we war for peace'.
                                                     *
                               But the truth is said in their hearts secretly, 
                               diseasening whispers;
                               'We fight to abate our fears, 
                               feed our greed,
                               protect our superiorpose'.