The weather in Plateau
By Godson Osarenren
So cold is the Plateau,
Like rivers that forgot the warmth of the sun.
An unfortunate weather meant for two;
But too cold for comfort.
Too many boxes are planted beneath tired soil.
Too many homes whisper to ghosts anthem.
Every sunrise rehearses the mass of a priest after the soultakers.
Where is help?
Lost in silence so loud,
Wears a mask of urgency,
That it drowns the wails of the living dead.
Tell me, do we still have leaders?
Or only statues cast in flesh,
Watching the nation bleed to silence,
As if sorrow were tradition?
