The House, poetry by Benedicta C. Nwankwo at
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The House

The House

written by: Benedicta C. Nwankwo


The walls are bleeding,
And its building is falling apart.
The rain is beating it without mercy,
And striking thunder accompanied by lightning.

The rooms look empty;
Making it doom for the dwellers.

The landlords care not,
Neither does the caretaker.
All they battle for is the Property.

They connive of the same laws;
Establishing and mounting rules for the poor tenants.
To gain a disastrous but selfish interest.

Their rooms have turned into Prison,
Because the landlord has bred them for the season.

Their eyes cry no more
Because their tears have gone on harmattan.
Their nose bleeds no more,
Because it’s cold and tired of bleeding.

Their hands are up,
Heads high,
And their legs have worn the boots to fight.
They are ready for the “Peace fight.”

Tell our builders,
And landlords,
We are ready to settle the dispute between us!
Tell them,
We are ready if at all we step on their toes.

Tell them,
We want Peace! Nothing but Peace;
If truly they deserve to serve and lead us.

Tell them,
We need the stains of Peace,
Not blood of War and Agony.

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