Smoked Screen Over The Border
written by: Stephen O. Izevbekhai
@IzevbekhaiS
Our hearts are a gallery of pains
from the blast, rockets, and mortar bangs
fired across the sky seeping deep into our ear aditus like a rampaging thunderous orchestra of drums.
At dawn, there may be no more sounds,
and this city may be drowned in its own blood and silence.
Within our hearts is a gallery of awful memories
Birthed from the horrendous sight of children and women lost to bullets fired by gun-wielding structs of pale conscience
whose shadows often lurk around as we lay to sleep.
Isn’t there an end to their passion for wounds and blood?
I lose my sleep, and a million hours to this utter destruction of Mother Earth’s offspring,
for it is a smoked screen over the borders of our conscience.
This niche is a hell of fire.
Who on earth would fire shots at the world’s future,
or shell shelters harbouring kids…?
Only monsters would, monsters draped in white,
monsters killing mothers.
For there aren’t any heroes here, but only helpless victims wrapped in blood-stained linens.
I am an innocent child born into this zone of conflict
Persistently heating up and stirring my emotions to boiling point.
My mind is now a gallery of paintings and pains where gory scenes of a conflict-torn region are exhibited.
And here I am now, sitting in this cold camp amongst others as a refugee,
wrestling with my lines and the peace it can offer,
Pondering if those scars can ever heal,
But the scar on my memory still bleeds.
And when you dig deeper into its core,
You would find within a sea of boiling tears dripping off that scar.
For I am that child stuck in that zone of conflict I call home.
For me, it is a crossroad of no sleep.
- Smoked Screen Over The Border - April 10, 2024
- The Lunatic Patient - September 10, 2019
