The clash

By Clement Odia

WHEN flames engulf
the thunder’s roar,
in the ravines of rhetoric,
innuendos collide with
scorching sarcasm.
Idioms ignite,
tongues aflame,
as language becomes
a labyrinth of twisted tongurs.
A new language erupts,
a cacophony of pain,
echoing through the
valleys of vulnerability.

When fire invites the thunder’s might,
anarchy dances in the
court of chaos,
where borders blur and
landscapes shatter.
Roofs collapse, corrugated iron twisted,
like the tangled roots of
a fallen tree.
Excrement and decay,
a noxious shroud that clings,
like the polluted haze that
chokes the city.

When fire and thunder clash,
our tongues marry slogans,
a defiant cry, echoing through streets of resistance.
Borders of restriction shrink in fear,
like the receding tide of a dying sea.
Daggers lose their caution ,
glinting with menace,
like the razor-sharp peaks
of a mountain range.
Fear gathers effrontery, a rallying cry,
to shatter chains of oppression,
and let freedom fly,
like a bird soaring through the skies of liberation.