OCEANS RED by Tydale Abigail
Look through the yards and yarns of our yards
Where our waists and benches work for a day
And our voices and reactions strive for a seat.
Right there, you'll see them all broken,
Swimming cheerfully in the depth of the ocean of blood
If you can visit our farms
To see how our groundnuts and yams survive,
And the grasshoppers propose to the weeds in peace
Then the sickle only visits for his due You will barely smile
As the blood of the farmers sweep through your feet
See how sad our happy faces have become.
From the verandahs leading into our cathedrals,
Our folded arms have refused to unfold
And our swift walks have bluntly refused to become smart
Seeing the red oceans that overflow the sacred altars
Perhaps the only sounds we heard in our sanctuaries came from the Holy Scriptures
But, its cries have overwhelmed the admonitions we received .
We have seen the Bible's face tearing from the cuts and piercings of the herdsmens' matchets'
And have seen its pages flung out of the windows in our churches
While its owners fall in queues of cold red blood.
The voices of our streets have grown sternly cold.
Just like the guns of Hitler,
Ethnic knives have dived into the intestines of our country men
And a bath of religious duel has tied the focus of our progress to a halt.
So, no one walks above the oceans of blood
What we fear is the fear that threatens our boldness,
For our prayers have run to hiding places.
Our schools have almost pretended to die so we can live.
True opinions are locked in the gums and tongues of our fearless cowards
Because the oceans are drawing closer
Can we number the souls that have swam in the red oceans of today?
How do we re-write the names burnt in the flames of the red oceans?
Have we only knives that kill the bond of nationhood?
Where do the ethics of religion run to?
Alas! The red oceans have swallowed everything
When our asphalt roads are polished in cold blood,
Where is the security of our country's tomorrow?
When the slayers and eaters of fellow men are assurred the liberty of the future,
Where is the hope of our unity?
Who will help dry off the red oceans that are expanding across my fatherland
'We the people'
How suddenly it has become 'Them the people,'
Tell us that glass boats will not sink in the fatality of the red oceans.
Where are the promises of independence?
Our lives have become sick by the petitions of death from our country men
Oh Zik!
Did you know that one day, our oceans will become red?
Our heart beats are louder than the thunders of the heavy rains.
For we are very afraid,
That one day, the oceans will know no bounds
If tears can cleanse the red from the oceans, let us cry.
If soaps and bleaches will restore the sanity of our oceans, let us wash.
Fellow men and women of my country!
Let us smelt those metals and iron that open the fountains of blood in our land.
And the oceans will never be red again
Tydale Abigail is a Spoken Word Poet, who has a wild fascination with the cross, a Critic, Bard and Historian.
Where our waists and benches work for a day
And our voices and reactions strive for a seat.
Right there, you'll see them all broken,
Swimming cheerfully in the depth of the ocean of blood
If you can visit our farms
To see how our groundnuts and yams survive,
And the grasshoppers propose to the weeds in peace
Then the sickle only visits for his due You will barely smile
As the blood of the farmers sweep through your feet
See how sad our happy faces have become.
From the verandahs leading into our cathedrals,
Our folded arms have refused to unfold
And our swift walks have bluntly refused to become smart
Seeing the red oceans that overflow the sacred altars
Perhaps the only sounds we heard in our sanctuaries came from the Holy Scriptures
But, its cries have overwhelmed the admonitions we received .
We have seen the Bible's face tearing from the cuts and piercings of the herdsmens' matchets'
And have seen its pages flung out of the windows in our churches
While its owners fall in queues of cold red blood.
The voices of our streets have grown sternly cold.
Just like the guns of Hitler,
Ethnic knives have dived into the intestines of our country men
And a bath of religious duel has tied the focus of our progress to a halt.
So, no one walks above the oceans of blood
What we fear is the fear that threatens our boldness,
For our prayers have run to hiding places.
Our schools have almost pretended to die so we can live.
True opinions are locked in the gums and tongues of our fearless cowards
Because the oceans are drawing closer
Can we number the souls that have swam in the red oceans of today?
How do we re-write the names burnt in the flames of the red oceans?
Have we only knives that kill the bond of nationhood?
Where do the ethics of religion run to?
Alas! The red oceans have swallowed everything
When our asphalt roads are polished in cold blood,
Where is the security of our country's tomorrow?
When the slayers and eaters of fellow men are assurred the liberty of the future,
Where is the hope of our unity?
Who will help dry off the red oceans that are expanding across my fatherland
'We the people'
How suddenly it has become 'Them the people,'
Tell us that glass boats will not sink in the fatality of the red oceans.
Where are the promises of independence?
Our lives have become sick by the petitions of death from our country men
Oh Zik!
Did you know that one day, our oceans will become red?
Our heart beats are louder than the thunders of the heavy rains.
For we are very afraid,
That one day, the oceans will know no bounds
If tears can cleanse the red from the oceans, let us cry.
If soaps and bleaches will restore the sanity of our oceans, let us wash.
Fellow men and women of my country!
Let us smelt those metals and iron that open the fountains of blood in our land.
And the oceans will never be red again
Tydale Abigail is a Spoken Word Poet, who has a wild fascination with the cross, a Critic, Bard and Historian.
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