poem: MURDER AT DAWN

Night marauders of Jos
Fulani herdsmen they are

Masked in pitch darkness
As black as their souls
Cloaked in bitterness
And volcanic anger, like Mount Vesuvius
With machetes, cutlass, and guns
On the Plateau they descend
Before the first crow of the cock

Blood thirsty men versus sucklings,
Nursing mothers and elderly
Pitted against rampaging Fulani herdsmen
Their squeaky cries of anguish met with
Shrill battle cries

Babies and toddlers
They weaned from mothers’ breasts
Their innocent gaze met with deadly mien
Their tender flesh, they pierced
With jagged blades
Death they sold
To terrified, and fleeing victims

Mothers and babes
Now august visitors
Of their generous maker
As we approach the ides of March

Night marauders of Jos
Fulani herdsmen they are
They gorged their bellies full
With the blood of babies
And tears of the town
Back into the dark they slipped
To revel and chant, perhaps
Under the shades, prepared by their patrons
Patting one another
On the back, with blood soiled palms
For their dastard deeds

Night marauders of Jos
Humans they were
Demons they are
Accursed are they!

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Beyond Death

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Deadly Chatter

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