Funeral

Written by: Oluwaseun Ogunbiyi

'Twas time our teeth be 
sealed with bogus lips, frozen 
from the frost of tears.
 Except for a form of 
mourning, they were to 
remain captives, the thirty 
two of them 
or less.

 From aloft, we all seemed 
black ants, clustering for 
honey,
 But our reasons for 
gathering was bitter. As 
bitter as the shreiking voice 
of the 
violin,
 The tiring voice of the 
organ, as bitter as the sound 
of the hymns sung, 
 As the thoughts it bore so 
clung.
 
Assuredly a melodious tune it 
was, but our feets refused 
to dance. 'stead, more 
tears
watered the soil, dust of 
grief arose, containing airs' 
naivety.

'Twas the last of the gigantic 
rectangle, slowly immersing, 
the grounds imbibing, 
shovel
scorching sands with 
withered hands, bodies 
swaying, more intriguing than 
martial arts, 
honouring its lasts.