Tuesday, 28 October 2014


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?