Mourning our dead – an Ode

By Nana Frema Busia

The Skies were painted black
I was grieving, copious grieve
Weeping and weeping as though an entire nation were dead
I felt desolate, destitute in my soul
Fathers, Mothers, children and even those yet to be born
Executed by ineptitude in the womb of doom
Charred to the bone, defaced, dehumanized, detonated in a blazing fury of fire
In a consummate moment of sadness, fragile humanity is consumed
Reduced to charcoal, searing d holes in the hearts of the living

The rain came down in unstoppable frenzy, pounding relentlessly for hours on end
As though a demon of vengeance had been set lose with a mission to destroy
Desperate soundings of thunder and shrieks of lightening confronted bewildered skies
Plotting s of death hatched for decades were unleashed
To expose our hidden sins to the entire world out there
A contorted reckoning for undelivered promises
Of projects that have failed to see the light of day

So we mourn our dead today, for three days
The oppressive country that devours itself,
Eats up children and leaves bones charred in a debris of infinite pain
Yes, we weep copiously for our dead
Our intoned dirges criss-cross and penetrate the dawn
Like drawn daggers piercing the mundane skies
We shed tears in torrents with raw emotions of pain
Our frenzy of wails rise to a crescendo of woe
But the dead are still, unmoved by our cacophony of mourning
Our delude of tears make no impression whatsoever
Our murderous conscience defy absolution

Because our stars are black
Our skies are dark
Turbulent rains, without drains
Lays bare our dreaded fate
Poor souls have scorched and are dead
Waisted in the floods of our neglect
As we shed tears of deep regret
Cleanse our hearts oh Lord our God
Galvanize our grieve in a healing streak
Let development speak, for peace we seek


busiafordemocracy@yahoo.com