I’m in the phase of my menstrual,
Where I’m very vocal,
And I want to talk about love,
Romantic love to be specific,
How it elevates you to another galaxy,
A lovely exciting world you see,
A world, before unimagined,
Full of possibilities
Wonders and amazing entities.
But then,
Think about it,
This is the only way love can be,
Without this elevation, love seizes to exist,
Such a great feeling, unreal as it is,
You’re special now, no longer just a particle of humanity
You’re a representation of God Almighty,
Unconditional love,
Not having to do sh*t for you to be given some loving,
Not something you can buy,
Not even with a Biafran shilling.
HULLABALOO
I smell thick and red dust
I see dark smokes grow wings
I hear the earth quakes in my stomach
I feel Lucifer's caress on my chest with fire
Mother must be somewhere, beaten and burning
Tens of homeless boys have grown in my head-
they have become touts
and hooligans.
A priest shouted:
'do not be friends with those in the world'
His words took a wrong alley on their skin
They vexed, and set God on fire.
The radio spoke yesterday, and I lost my voice
America launched the mother of all bombs-
on Syria
And Russia has taken a thorny glove
To be their brother's keeper.
Rivers are running into the arms of their banks
And inside their nails is flood.
My brother is biafran
And he was told how his fathers ran from fire
Under a less illuminated day-
half of a yellow sun.
There is noise in what these choirs sing
There won't be rapture tomorrow-
heaven, hell and earth are cities of confusion.
It could have been worst
So i pray to jah
Oh jah see the tears on
The eyes of the poor
See the innocent dead bodies on the streets
See the cries of our
Beloved mothers
See the poverty everywhere in africa
See the lack of food
Shelter clothing
Not to talk of lack of jobs
See darkness everywhere
No electrcity
See religious discrimination
killing my brothers and sisters everywhere
See accident every where in my country cos
Of lack of good roads
See the men on black
And black with their brutality in the name of police killing the innocent
In the third world
See my people
In every jail
In every part of
The world
See my black beautiful
Sister turning into
Prostitute to a normal
Trend for money survival
See my brothers turning
Crimes as a normal means to survive
Oh jah i cant ask where
You are cos i know
You see all that boreders
My country
Am a poor ghetto
Biafran boy
That believes in your
Supreme intervention
As now i pray
Oh jah hear the cries
Of your people
The peope of biafra
Believe in your devine
Intervention
If not oh God
On our struggle for freedom
It could have been worst
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.