The world is wicked;

embraced by fingers of guilt, souls swim in confusion, eyes glued

to all that kills and heals.

the devil's fork sinks deep

into the sea of weak

bodies smeared on walls

of guilt. Genital fluids exchange,

destinies lost to fingers of dream killers. the Lips has lost its succulence to Cholera.

the world they say is yours

indeed not mine. the world owns them all, the tall, the long and the short. the soup of life is served to all, hot or cold.

the walls of truth are broken,

the debris, a reminder of where we all went wrong. The sky shines bright, but all we see is darkness. all we see is nothing.

as we dwell in a vicinity of chaos

the songs in our eyes are seduced to sleep by greed and selfish interest. we are but left with prayers that dwell on hope.

we need to get up from our comfort horses, and take to our heels, our feet the weapon that kills negativity. our blades of determination needs to be sharp

to cut deep into the fabric of a better future

a future kissed by the lips of innovation. a future as beautiful as the maiden of bravery

a future we can only contruct with our hearts and not our hands smeared with corruption.

©Izu Nwokocha