Can you hear
the lonely voice
above the hilarious voices
in the vast night market
where men
women
and children
are clearing the table
for the long night of waiting?
Can you hear
the lonely voice
above the thundering of a million lions prowling the streets
of this vast night market
of men
women
and Children
washing away the stale face
of this century?
Above the battle cry of gunfire,
above the chimes of church bells
and the hilarious voices
of looters, drunkards and fornicators
peeling the last barks
off the hollow trunks
of this century,
Can you hear the lonely voice
inside this trench
far away from the battle field?
Above the expectant groans
of the labour rooms
where ambitious women
sweat in the boxing ring
to fell the first baby
into the clear slate of the millennium,
Can you hear the lonely voice?
Can you hear the imperishable
echo of truth's thunder
lying under the watery eye balls
of men
women
and children
whose rotten underwears,
white washed with the sweet aroma
of the morning rose,
await the furnace of the rising sun?
The wind shall soon expose
The hen's rump
For genocide is only on hold,
Ethnic daggers waiting in new sheaths...
