User:Omeokachie/sandbox

The four walls

Out there through the iron window In the dead of the night, On the farthest part of the sky, Set the moon in its horizon, Shining and smiling at me.

And covered darkness with light, slowly it moves and walks, Through the sky with shining little stars nearby, Their numbers uncountable and I felt like talking to it but it is far above me, From the light it provides I can see myself, the colour of my couch and my sleeve, Where I lay.

Turning to the other iron window stood the gallows Where men are chained with bangle of justice. The theater of death, where men shout once! Shake once! and die many more with rope on their neck, The occupants those rejected by justice in despair, In Sorrow, horror and grief, Whose turn shall it be? When shall the hour come? A guess only the Hangman, the master of death, The living vulture can answer.

I remember where I am as the night became dead I resigned deeply to nature only to be awakened, By the footstep of our keepers whistling and murmuring, Starring through open iron window checking whether we are still there, Where fate kept us, where justice rejected some and some waiting for it.

The night wanes, the moon disappears and the cock crows, It tells me we are in; for another day of hustling and jostling, In the four walls, I can hear the song of my comrades, In anguish and sorrow but praying to God, And asking the question, when shall justice come?

Poem by Adenyi Theophilus Okey ( August 10th 2014) engel364@yahoo.com