Dissidents

Dissidents

The stringent grip of the law Is like a clasp of iron on sensitive skin The bards sing of triumphs won by yesterday's kin There is a word for our type of resistance We are called dissidents The only ones who have the courage to speak

There is the scent of camphor on the winds A burning even A sense that not everything is as it should be The greyish brown of the skies turns a fiery orange Like larva, fire burning in earth's pits Trees shrivel and collapse Turning to piles of ash heaps The landscape is bare Skeletons litter the earth Trophies of a war Strategized, organized by the war master Called 'Rule of Law'

Light glints off gun barrels Soldiers cry "All rise" Bullets are loaded, all is primed Word is the President has given the order Tonight those who resist die The red and blue bursts spit like fire The dissidents stand with pride Our bodies may go, perhaps even our pride But our words will be here for a while

© Akintomide Ifedayo Adigwe

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