Old Soldier, New War

During the times that have come by, I pray for war to come. Not these new modern warfare. The old kind. Those ones stationed between battle noise and mud trenches. The zipping sounds of mortars, as empty bullet shells illuminate the blood heavy war terrain. Soldier boots marching through old places that were once called new homes.

Yes, I pray night and day. Night and day! Yes, for at night sleep refuses me and tosses me in between my past memories and a future I remain nameless.

………………………………..

These drones are empty vessels. They are transporters of bad news and death. For our souls do hunger for a reason to accept sleep, but no! Not these ones. These silent birds made with fiber like materials only look down, fall flat, and never return up.

Like thin dots silently scattered.

Only if your hands be wide as the oceans floors and you bring them together then one might see how much these dots have cost us.

…………………………………

I grow sick by the hour. Every hour eaten in silence. Every chance taken just to remain still. I grow deeper into my own anger. Madness beckons daringly close ….and I fear I will welcome it back home.

Commander Bull. ENTRY #204881

Battlefront Shagari Sector, Year 2098

African Days Vision

In five years,

Sipping kunu, no processed drinks

Just sunshine, close to the beach

Possibly Cape Town?

Uganda or maybe suburban Lekki?

 

In five years,

Sitting, newspaper flipping

Tilapia on burner,

sizzling,

getting flipped

Beautiful music played on vinyl

King Sunny Ade, high life soaking

 

In five years,

I picture myself blessed with love

Away from the towers and rusts

Back home in huts and on red soils

Savannah nights experienced daily,

 

Freely, and

brightly