Songs of Anisha
“Utopia,”
by Ubong Anwana
Balancing on a knife’s edge
Would determine the weight of a feather
But would be futile
when a man’s spirit is on scale.
Innate intelligence of a desperado
Grappling with straws plucked from the roots
The mirror cracked; faces replicated,
Life and existence is a schizophrenic affair
Men in bits held by wraiths of violence
Tempered with hatred, retching saccharine feud
Spouting death and misery,
With saturnine fervor
Vengeance repackaged repainted and recycled,
Transmuted hatred, sublimate as peace.
Eagles with olive leaves and arsenals,
Cannot spare the prey.
Troubleshooters with eyes on gold
Measure blood, its weight in cash
And salve their crude conscience with oil
Machiavellian doves with poise and finesse
The world is your grasp
Active volcanoes your playground
Your best soup is bloody lies
And toasted deceit
Atropos has sharpened her shears.
Fortune has been ravished by men,
Whose eyes do not think,
Infected with political satyriasis
“How long will you stare at the weaver?”
“the tapestry has been done!!”
The Gangster took Gang wars
from the streets to the globe,
Yet when apprentices ply the trade
The master interjected with interdictions
Mega bombs for megapolis
Nerve gases for the nervous
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