Where Blood Was Flood Poem by Chima Ononogbu

Black South Africans,
You have become tactless
although history rebukes you
but with yarn tinged with blood
are your ears sutured;
deaf to hear as a whimsical grasshopper
loitering about the nest of a dull eyed Mockingbird,
Unaware of the danger that lurks in the shadow.

Now your end seems nigh,
as cloud of death with the fury of apocalypse
it comes to you.
Like a goat bleating in agony wrestling ancient ghost
shall your cities cry out when recompense
as a whiff of flying gloom
grips them by their throats.

In your season of destruction,
lives and properties,
none was safe.
Your fellow Africans, in their moments of melancholy,
their lives you snuffed out in blood cold,
smashing their heads and breaking their bones,
turning your sewers into gluttonous arteries
where their blood flowed.

While at the intersection between life and death,
With cudgels in hand,
your heads bowed
toward their dying body
casting mischievous smiles.

Your hands are soaked in innocent sobbing blood
that screams scream that bends the air
and swirls smoke of vengeance way above the cloud
into the heaven of heavens
where the gods terribly dwell.

Your fate is settled for your unrepentance is high.
Johannesburg and Soweto, where blood was flood,
shall lay fallow as the ruins of Babylon
swarmed by forest of endangered ants,
Where the lizards of the tribe of dragons,
the four legged reptilian,
in twin rows migrate to claim the tents
pitched by ants native to your abandoned cities.