Every soul that passes the gate,
Has passed a test of fate,
Trudging along on tired feet,
To lay all things on Heavenly seat.

Almost there, refusing to be beat
By same whippers on righteous feet
With piano's wit pressing the drum's beat
Though no Man loves recurring defeat,
We seek for a real flag
Beyond the skinful rag.

Far from all is the Sky
Who knows about beautiful lie
We're dark
We do not lacked
We were raped
We do not wrecked.

Dear Ma'am
Open the Book
Brought to us
Are Books you hide from us
We were calm
You made your claim.

Dear Ma'am
Your Book came with guns
Which kill after your losses
On your unprepared return
You forget about the guns
Digging daily graves here and there.


© Okpohoudeme Promise Ita