“The Vulture, And The, Little Girl”
Was a graffiti, on our, lost ethos
In the womb, of death, we saw, her curl
As a war, orgied, humanity’s loss!
In the, war’s wasteland, what farm, famished souls
With a fear, baptized by, tears of sun
A fistful, of hope, handed out, as doles
Whilst Warlords, devour, death’s dominion!
What colonists, wreaked, seems, far benign
Against, what Africans, did, to their dreams
They razed, to dust, their spent, bloodline
In the love, and hate of, malicious régimes!
Freedom, ain’t for those, who sell it, to fear
For a shred, of bread, being’s mean metaphor
Life’s, dead innards, death’s, belly bears
When Hunger Feeds, The Creed, Of War!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra