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The talking gun

We don't say goodbye,
Not under this perpetual twilight, that our faith now tide,
When the moonlight ripples at our embankment settled,
If you wait,
our liberty is at war,
Lingering on the course of freedom,
And together shall we break
from these furnace gate of tyranny,
If you behold,
the fragment of our broken tears, would amount by the Indian Ganges
Let the embers cry all out,
our mountain debts,
to the eulogy of the whirling wind,
And by the nightingales,
this unity be rhymed at each babbling praise.
As we come to campaign through eternity.
While against the soaring odds of immortality

The guns shall boom,
Nor shall be halted by any power pawn jury,
Still, the barrel shall pierce the gore clothed sky,
into dimensional ruins,
Like a tattered tumbling cloud,
And the mocking bird shall scamper no more,
Cuz' the bow is at flight,
To end the vaunting dreams of hopeful battalions,
credulous bloods shall again congregate,
at the conference somewhere in the depth of the seas.

I beseech you comrades,
that we strive through this thorny end,
with every ounce in our roaring veins.
For by this means,
our blurring future is adumbrated and preserved in the realms of perpetual,
We shall sing the camp odes with our grouchy feet,
And the drum stick shall lither the air, with apocalyptic fathom,
Matching on logs and stocks of clambering branches,
And later in our dreams pretend,
as though we are deafened against the ominous groan of our bear soul.
As we awake, we fill the thirsty soul with teary gland to quench the rebellious appetite.
The war at hand is at it again,
and has sailed to where liberation is embraced.
Indignantly tearing down mountaintops,
and pouring eruption down the valley's
Solely thrusting capital city into amok,
piercing even the garrison walls with its vain claws,
Even the barracks now run for their peaceful lives,
War, at all time enlisting the void in us for what may profit a demolition man.

poem by Folayemi Akande
Added by Poetry Lover
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