Voice to the Voiceless Fortune Nwaiwu
36 | P a g e
Let the sun Shun Let the stars Leave me with scars For I ’ m tired Of being mired .
My Island ( Spoken by the Widow )
My Island , Your airy breezes Breed pneumonia . Your waves weave a warning woe , Like a flake that flutter in the flaring sun .
My Island , You glad my soul As surrounding skylarks Sing blissful songs all day long . Despite all efforts to lighten my soul My grief grows to the brim .
The Dead Are Dead ( Spoken by the Widow )
Do the dead see And interfere with the affairs of the living ? If so , why are they so adamant To adjudicate unfairness And segregation among the living ?