I heard father once said;
Son, things will get better soon.
Mother launches into fasting
Nothing is beyond prayer’s power’ She said.
Days of unaccomplished dreams count years.
Still, mother launches into prayer and sings the rhyme of hymns.
Sons and daughters
develop an affinity for greediness
the leaders breed kleptomaniac’s fingers
Still, mother launches into a prayer.
The hot huts
Benue flows blood
dried pans tell the tales of war
wounded mouths summarise
Yet mother hopes in prayer.
Father lies in his bed
and awaits death.
Mother sings the hymnals
and hopes for a never-suffering life.
son, things will get well soon.
Lie in the air.
While dreams hijackers
wait in the ambush of good-minds.