Come; See the masquerade dance under the rain
With filthiness clung to the helm of her skirt,
The wide streak harrowing the downward spiral
One for the goons, two for the uniformed guardian.

At dawn, we changed our closet, in which we saw hell before death,
At noon we naked the masquerade for his filthy rag
It stormed our streets raining brimstone and gunshots,
Tearing the joy of motherhood into dripping tears.

When we clamor for our armor,
With the night gavel they stripped us of our garment,
Upon toll gate our fate was priced and paid for,
Not too young to rule and not too young to die too.

When the drum of Fela rocks through our heart,
We play the chicken with the freight train,
Like the caste we stumbled on our boots running for our dear life,
We went through hell and came back dead.

May it not be unheard that we marched out in our thousands
With placards, songs, and chanting like our life depends on it,
But then came the bloodbath at night, pawn to the gods,
Let it be known that we breathe, not fear, we breathe, and we were stoned.

 

 

 

Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash