SARSAPARILLA
There are fairytales being told under the night’s moonlight.
Tales as bright as a lone star in the very heart of darkness,
Like the root of sars that struck 9ja like a stray thunder.
Roots as deep but of sweet fragrances that lures its prey-
to having a sour drink from the poison of its cruel nectar.
There are stories of men like wild flowers you cannot see-
without having the fear of losing your ability to breathe.
So, what good is an odorous plant when you cannot live-
to tell the sweet tale of its scent as you ended up with sars.
The doctor said it is a severe acute respiratory syndrome.
There can be a thousand and more ferocious beasts-
in the heart of the jungle and we even wouldn’t break a sweat.
But a single wild animal out in the open and on our streets-
must be gagged and drag by its horns to the slaughter house,
Like that other family of covid that I know from the medicals.
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WE ARE WAY TOO YOUNG
We are way too young
To face the pain of broken dreams
That breaks too many things
Like the future in its wake
We are way too young
To see our hope grow wings and fly
Leaving behind our battered spirit
Like its a thing to be discarded
We are way too young
To tell our stories in dark places
Places that had lost its sacredness
To the darkness of our souls
We are way too young
To have our bodies covered in scars
That looks like world map
Leading to a hidden treasure
We are way too young
To listen to the sound of gunshots
For nothing good comes from war
Than pile of dead bodies to enrich the soil
We are way too young
To feel the weight of hashtag
That looks like casket
Buried on every man’s wall
