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Giant At 60 

We fought in tranquility,  
For a freedom in our mother's womb,
She cried for our immaturity,
To stand like an Iroko tree,
In the forest full of wild animals. 

In the field of her womb, 
Battled her million times,
Until she surrendered for our delivery, 
In a direction-less forest,
With no purpose to walk. 

Like leaves dance to the rhythm of storm,
Singing and clapping sounds,
Echoed in the four walls of world, 
For we are heroes; we claimed to stand, 
On the land of blackish souls. 

Mother walked up the heaven, 
Her two fruits drizzling milky juice,
Beyond the reach of her baby's mouth,
That grew of malnutrition,
Under the roof of a greenish hut.
 
Falling and rising as dawn,
Lurking behind the veil of night, 
We become oblivious of the smiling faces, 
Of education,
Of health,  
Of economy, 
Of infrastructures,
Until they disappeared like ashes. 

Ra-ta-ta-ta-tataaa; bom-bom, 
We send our helping-hands; daily, 
To the early journey of no return, 
For the living to tread on the path, 
Smeared by clotted black blood.

The old graves wear angry faces,
At sixty, 
We clothed in inheritance, 
For we are wolves, 
That feed on forbidden flesh,
that fought for our survival.

With an empty stomach, 
We belch of satisfaction,
Becoming giant of fifty-four heads,
That grown wings to fly, 
To the shore of Pacific Ocean. 

Behind tomorrow's curtain,
Peace stretch out its soothing hands, 
To wipe the stream of tears,
Flowing for six decades, 
"I can't let you be in pieces",
It promised. 

Abushet

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