Who is there?
Who has ears to lend to our voices?
Bright and beautiful was the day
The birds calling, the streets bubbling
We all havedifferent destinations
But we were all summoned to Nyanya
Beckoned by goals that drive us
For some it was journey to yonder
For some Nyanya was our office
Yet some came to sell our petty goods
We all occupy a marked park on a day turned gloom
Who is there?
Who can understand our pains and loss?
Who would know we will be bathed in flames and blood?
We heard our voices as we writhed in pain
Fire searing through our bones and sinews
Our bodies unceremoniously dismembered
Words cannot describe our agonies
The inconsolable cries of our loved ones
We may be gone but our voices persist
We shall be heard from mountain tops
The valleys shall keep our memories
Who is there?
Who is playing politics with our untimely passage?
Who is partying while our nation mourns?
Ours is not the first and may not be the last
We hoped this will unite our land
Yet it seems the blast created its own divide
We crave for the progress of this country
Our voices bellow for a great nation
Some gone beyond, some left behind
We all shall be remembered as…….
Voices from Nyanya.
– DamilareOladimeji
– @doctdoe
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