By
Shola Balogun
In Rwanda
At the borders of Kivu and Gisenyi,
The land mourns her emptiness.
There is stirring silence
In the fragments of lone bricks
On patched earth.
Sprawling tombs retell
The litany of a mother’s sorrow
At the crossroads of an Eastern soil
When she heard the wailing
From the wall of her home
And the ballads of her children in exile.
Mothers’ sorrow is in Africa too.
You may not know what their eyes
Have seen in the lands
Where they call their homes.
You may not understand their silence
And the fire of their lips.
In Africa, mothers see their children
Die in the streets.
All for Oil
It is now
that the fauning fellows
fool themselves
through thrilling tricks
that I know why mean mad men
make madness
their merry merchandise.
I know now why those
who fume for the poor
are also found wanting
in their vows.
Now I know how
a spoonful of hunger
is more than enough
to light a keg of gunpowder.
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