Silver Bullet Poem by Uche Nwanze

Cut down in their prime, bullets flying randomly. Guilty by my appearance, my dreadlocks and posh car, pull over or we shoot.
Accidental discharge they fell by their bloodthirsty pellets.
Trigger happy the men sworn to protect them.
Tax payers money spilled in blood, law and order murdered on the altar of brutality.
No more will their voices be mute, no more will they keep mum.
To the streets they march on, their voice will never go hoarse.
Leaders of tomorrow, their destiny they take in their hands.
They exodus so their voices be heard. Tired they are of hollow promises.
Who will bury their dead, who will bring back the litany of those stolen from us.
Their blood cries out for justice, the killing must stop. Those hands stained with blood, the long arm of the law those bloodied hands manacled.
The uniform, his wages not enough for his large home. Hunger fester anger, his gun a weapon his frustration on helpless citizens.
This rally no political rally, our voices opposition to tyranny.
Aso rock come down from your high horses and hearken to our cry.
Edet house don't swap the apparel, lip service tired are we.
This ends now!