We are not falling. We fell long,
long, long ago: the night our
home was bulldozed to rubbles
while we were indoors snoring

So, how do you count on those
in rigor mortis to shake heads
to the dragging and mincing
and the dishonourable
dumping of their bones?

Low-lying and unresponsive
we lie waiting, like refuse,
for more spits and all manner of
mud and dung to settle on our face

Like a battle ground,
we’ve become accustomed to
the mad dance of hooves, heels
and wheels over our remains

But for how long still will these rains
of arrows, descending headfirst,
take before they at the end
pierce open our smelly belly?

We’re already lifeless. Nobody
worries anymore about clean air!

©® Umar YB
Copyright Reserved. 27/05/22
Photo Credit: Shutterstock

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