Short Boko Poems

'Boko Haram' is not an enemy.
It's a subject in an economy
of a corrupt country....

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Boko Haram sect claimed to have killed many and caused distractions
The government denounced this as wishful thinking and untrue
The masses condemned this act of killing and called for drastic actions
The destruction of this terrorist sect is long overdue....

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What a killer you are
Deadlier than boa's venom
What a menace you are
Threatening our lives
Stealing our freedom
Bombing our cities
A wild fire burning to ashes
By your hand
The mighty have fallen
Fallen to rise no more
What a killer you are
Revenge is what you seek
never stopping till the did is done
Killing is your hobby 
You take delight in pain
We know what you want
We'll all fight to the death...

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When are we going to die?
Would they kill us?
How would they kill us?
Who will kill us?
When would they eventually kill us?
Terrorist leave us alone
Let us be in peace And harmony.
First, it was the militant, then the bakassi and
now the Boko Harem.
We all need peace and harmony to live.
These are compound complex problems 
Hang in the air in the country.
When shall we be free from death by the terrorist?...

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Your love, my Lord  
The bastion of my soul  
No enemy of your Word 
Ever, able would be,
Its walls of devotion to 
Ascend
For 
Hate, the kingdom of terror to
Establish!



© Demetrios Trifiatis
  19 JANUARY 2015


*Boko Haram, Nigeria, just used a 10-year-old girl as 
  a bomb detonator, right after massacring up
  to 2,000 people. To these victims of terror, I dedicate 
  this little poem of mine! God bless their souls!...

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You are called faceless
      BECAUSE YOU ARE SHAMELESS
      YOUR MURDER AND MAIM
       SENT TO THE INNOCENTS
          
       GROWTH OF GERMS
       INDEED, YOUR INTERESTS
      TO GOD, YOU WEAR FEARLESS
       TO EARTH, YOU WEAR BOKO HARAM
    
       YOUR PENULTIMATE RETREAT
        INDEED, MEMORABLE HEART HEAT
        FORWARD YOUR RETREAT
        TO THE SPEARHEAD OR THE GIANTS
         OR, DIVULGE YOUR IMAGE
        NOT GENTLE BOKO HARAM...

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Weak tears struggle down wrinkled faces
of mothers with sagging breasts—
Looking down at ballooned bellies;

Their children lying in graveyard laps
oblivious to flies playing around
blood-shot eyes;

Boko Harim rides off laughing—
leaving behind survivors
consoled with the pangs of hunger;

With blood-shot eyes
we grow tired of morning news:
turn on the coffee pot to peculate;

And with muffled sighs
of late night uncontrolled fun
ask what’s her name, the weather!...

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