Ozoemena

9

This history is carved on the body of my mind like a birthmark I carry the memories like my beating heart, For it pumps the pains of yesterday to the veins of my conscience Reminding me of the horror history that time can’t bury. My pen bleeds of the blood of a Brothers resting in pieces in an unmarked grave, A blood that tell tales of Fathers who abandoned home To fish freedom at the battle field of okigwe, Fearlessly trading their lives to buy tomorrow for their children. My pen bleeds for the children who were denied the joy of fatherhood. Children who started running from the moment of their birth, For war welcomed them at the gate between their mothers leg And wore them the shadow of a man at birth. As the gold at the meeting of their thighs was mined illegally. Planting in them memories that watered the tree of hatred in their heart . My pen dig up the bodies of men who lie buried in unmarked graves Their story cannot be buried in same grave where their gallant bodies lay But should be laid to rest in a book that will live till the end of time For yesterday may forget their names, but not their legacy Joseph 2021

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