Songs of Anisha
“Postmortem,”
by Olatunji Ololade
On the fog-drenched
paths of dawn,
eighteen hearts beat on
the wings of our dreams,
ambition meets the dull
cold chill of the morn
Patriotism
buoyed by the love
for fatherland,
passion stoked by the
frost-coloured lips of death,
winged tenants of the firmament,
recoil and flee the crimson breath
Now that the burning
hearths are quenched,
and flames gut the steely-bird,
would torrents douse the tongues of red
or honour soothe the pain of death?
Children scream,
lovers weep,
statesmen chant in eulogies,
but conscience flees in the wake
of the last bugle, and leaves
us to their greed.
“Lips Of Song,”
by Al-Kasim Abdulkadir
The smack lands
On her cheeks and lips
The same that sang
The night before
How he forgets so soon!
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