Boko Haram Poem by Melody Iveren Kuku

Blood, fresh red blood.
Everyday, I smell it,
Foul stench of humans,
Slaughtered like cattles
And we accept it.
What can we do?
I hear men say.

Heads rolling,
Surprised by mean cutlasses.
Flesh of humans blown to meatballs
The stink of death,
Each day churns out widows,
The next, orphans.

Up North is desolate,
Ethnic clashes, turned to religious cleansing,
Men and women whose souls have become one with the soil,
Are denied the freedom to breathe the air of the land they call home.

Leaders turn blind eyes,
The man on the chief seat cries for the camera
And trots off to spend masses sweat.
We haven't remembered him yet.
The time would come when the poor will have no flesh to feed on
But the flesh of our shepherds.

Boko! And men flee at the sound.
Lord let them not remember my dwelling,
A prayer of the poor.
Who are they?
Beasts!
And who are we?
Men?
I think not.

When death becomes inevitable,
Fear will lose strength,
Why fear what killeth?
If you fight or not?
But I will never dream the dreams
Of a coward.

Give me a gun,
Teach me to shower bullets on the beasts,
Who read holy verses on mortals they butcher.

I will fight,
Than see the blood flow.
If I must,
Then I must.
Let my blood break the dreaded curse,
The curse of Boko Haram.

Blood for blood
Anger for anger
My zeal for my country,
With their zeal for madness.