Iquo,
your symphony stormed my soul
In
this flower-city of Trondheim
Your
symphony came, Iquo, it came
It
brought the dreams of elephant-children
Who
now, kneel before the ant,
They
starve; their meal-bowl shrinks.
Your
symphony carried with her
The
memory of corpses rotting from Ebola
The
pain of our land raped off everything
The
betrayal of family-heads; bargaining our blood for aid
And
the grenades garnishing our door-posts
And
the inevitability of our very near death
Symphonies
are for a hopeful people
Can
we also sing symphonies?
Iquo,
must we?