Least We Forget the Girls' Killing Cry

LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY (Apropos The Boko Haram Girls) I no longer hear the screams of the young girls nor the whimpering of their little brothers— only the echoes of falling tears of grieving widowed mothers and the muffled shhees to new born babes— How much longer must I awake to another morning I wish I never lived to see? A horizon whose plains are dotted with earthen keloids of humpbacked graves in makeshift cemeteries where food crops once grew; horizons reminiscent of the scared skins of the weary backs of slaves. Another damn day deranged brothers roaming, ravaging, raping their sisters and slitting mothers’ throats— Driven by a demonized illusion of the Nile goddess of fertility, and further intoxicating themselves with chalices of their families’ blood. Brainwashed and mind warped as if by a crazed neocolonial good luck fetish— are these who’ve lost the free in freedom like those who sold the in in independence—lackeys to and of ancient slave masters who’ve learn well the western ways of deception. Unmoved and no longer grievously concerned, the world mesmerizes itself with a deceived sacrilege image of a revered Nile goddess— Meanwhile, no longer news worthy wretched of the earth sisters continue to suffer ethnocentric rape and “gendercide” from their hoodwinked brethren.