Noise Makers Of The Dawn Poem by Felix Emeka George

We are laying dead,
Waiting for daybreak
Though the dawn's lips of
the day always greet our ears.
We rise up to the early call
Of the microphone singing
like thunderous shout of grenades.

Our sleepy resting eyes
and souls have been
pursued,
blood and water rush into our system,
by these men of ignorance and their distant gods.

Our nervous feeling
caused by the call,
turn my reasoning into questions.
Of how our ancestors were in communal order,
before the coming of these pale men.
Of strangers and distant gods

They shout on top
of their voices,
slapping ears silly.
As I am still in wonder
of the obtuse line on the way these people worship.
In a pandemonial manner.
Are they insane?

Giving their heart away to foreign gods,
Like an iron horse they walk; pondering.
Finding its own centre of judgment in hell.
To reduce our home stead for an alien land.

I do not know what has happened to my people,
Who were created,
like these alien men,
By God.

Now go clean a temple.
Destroy the mosque.
Demolish the shrine.

We are fighting ourselves for whom and against whom?
Are we the sect,
or the ill gotten?

Why don't we mend the net,
When the fight is forgotten?
We are scattered in pieces
And peace is long gone.

Let us flip through our ancestors path,
To a communal order,
as I am yet to know the mind,
because the face is not the index of heart

By: Felix Emeka George
Copyright: 8 April 2017
'All Rights Reserved'