Where Could It Be? Poem by Ibrahim S. Mansaray

Where could this miracle be?
These magic papers gifted as attachment
When the trials of punishment have withered
And the just seeks for injustice
Poverty cries for overcrowded companions
For rationality and hope are buried
As the paper closes all watering mouths

When feathers fall
They act, not toil the soil to troubling red
And eat every greener pastures in the land
For men are blinded and dumb by;
Their makings of short-comfort to buy bread,
(With no sweat in their hands)
While their consciences and souls are dead
Bought by the penny they swallow
While in our dying lands they faintly look

No space nor places
Except where money closes all mouths
Funded by the shadows of plastering palms
Welcoming victories of lies
Night scattered everywhere like;
Crows in combat for humans flesh
Truth treated as doubts
Where messengers are ridiculed and punished
Where chaos is but a remedy to increase peace
And the Nile of tomorrow has little hopes to flow
Where could it be?