The Supreme Leader's Bunker

 By Chidi Anthony Opara 

The bunker brimmed 

With libido enhancing wines 

And other goodies of the earth,

The supreme leader's bunker 

Brimmed 

With sultry looking virgin maidens.

But for the snore

Of the supreme leader,

And the lullabies of the virgins,

The bunker was serene.

Bombs 

And rockets blasted outside, 

Blighting with the people's blood 

The exterior of the bunker.

The lullabies of the virgins

And the snore 

Of the supreme leader grew louder.

The laments of the people 

Drowned the lullabies of the virgins,

The supreme leader awoke.

Sabre rattling, 

Threats 

To unleash holy warriors,

The hackneyed 

Hallucination of holy war.

The supreme leader took a sip 

And went back to slept.

The virgins continued to sing

And caress 

The unturbanned head 

Of the supreme leader.

Homeland Melodies

Strain your ears now
To hear decibels
Of sound,
Sound of songs,
Sound of homeland melodies
Learned at feet
Of pious mother,
Sitting with me
In a dark
Moonless night,
Starless night,
With rain threatening
And thunderstorms scolding,
With bats hovering
And mother's lamp
Our companion.

Music Of Mosquitoes

The prison portal ajar

Leading

To the domain of despair.

 

O eyes of conscience

Come,

Watch with me

This warped world

Where harassed humans,

Most making atonement

For sins not committed

Worry about wicked warders.

 

Between morning and noon

Half-boiled beans in bags

On wheel barrows arrive,

Breakfasts arrive with no condiments.

Harassed humans sit eating,

Still nursing skin lacerations.

 

On bare floors

They lie at night,

Spaces

Barely enough to stir.

Music of mosquitoes,

Music of their nights.

 

The Detectives’ Den

Screams,

Claims of innocence,

Pleas for mercy,

Screams.

The detectives’ den

Is full of hostages.

Desk Sergeants

Sit behind dilapidated desks

Counting ransoms,

Files

Brim with bail bonds.

Behind the desks

Banners beam;

“Police is your friend”,

“Bail is free”.

Skins

Are splashed with diseases,

Legs wobble,

Hands are handcuffed behind.

In quivering voices

Hostages

Strapped of cash

Beg for moratorium.

The rest of humanity

Hug

Indifference.

The Testimonies Are Threadbare

Miracle merchants

Mount microphones,

Miracles

Tumble in torrent.

Tithes

Tumble into tithe trunks,

Offerings

Submerge into offering sacks,

Suffering is on sabbatical.

Miracle seekers

One after another

Mount altars

Mouthing testimonies,

Their love for microphones

Immeasurable.

Shadows terrify them

And tie them to the togas

Of merchants of miracles.

The terrors tarry,

The miracles emerge,

The testimonies are threadbare.