We yelled and staggered on
We stumbled and many fell
Detained in the perplexity
No respite as danger pursued
The ordeal ensued when
In the midst of clout struggle
The insurgents took up weaponry
Determined to surmount a dictator
That morning bewilderment originated
Helter-skelter we escaped for safety
Sad enough bullets out ran some
Especially as cross fires existed
We saw our Kinsmen reach for the ground
As though caught only with fatigue
But bullets indeed penetrated some
They lay motionless as we lurched on
Struggling to God knows where,
We knew not our course
No worst thing existed for us
Like the cross fires we were trapped in.
One by one we began to die that day
Randomly death swallowed us up,
While power mongers persisted
Fired projectiles missed targets for us.
We ran frantically in seek for safety
Recognizing us as restless victims,
The insurgents mercilessly began to
Extinct us with great delight
‘No one is surviving the assault
What do I do?’ I pondered hastily
‘Shall we all face our demise this way?
No, I’ll live’ I determined
Kinsmen had long fallen to rise no more
This fact gave me impetus to survive
To live and tell the story of the cross fires
History of the fallen most be told to posterity
Inspiration came to me at once
I unyieldingly fell down as one lifeless
Spilled, oozing blood entwined me
The killers shoot till no one stood
Everyone lay motionless in a stack
I lived however not too sure yet
The cross fires persisted for long
That at one point I envied my kinsmen
Finally, calm was reluctantly returning
The government militia advanced
The insurgents had not a choice
But to retreat in dread of superior artillery
We had unfortunately advanced towards
The insurgents that we became the target
Of the artillery that was meant to shield us
Blames on the wrong tactics by the militia
Abounded as calm was retained in days
But I had a story to tell of the cross fires.

It is the voice all seek to hear
The voice the beckons listeners
Not for its loudness anyway
But for the authority it carries
The station ID played on
The man with the voice sat
The jingle was soon on
Listeners expected the voice
The jingle sunk, the voice thundered
“Good morning, here is the news…”
It was indeed the beloved voice
I, like others were relieved at last
For the voice behind the mic
Brought the news to us in fashion
It kept us abreast with happenings
All along something in it said ‘Listen’
Passersby are hauled by the voice
Of the man of unusual charm & panache

Prized Liquid
Water was the one thing
that so filled the earth
since its foundation.
It roofed the fascia of the deep
from hoary time to the dividing.
The ubiquity of this liquid
during ancient times
was nothing of remark.

Man came into the scene,
the story began to
steadily alter and
this change didn’t have
a unique term till now.
The earth’s climate has
been altering to this day.
Experts call it ‘Climate change’.

In a city called Bamenda,
water dearth has rocked
households leaving even
the opulent in grave angst.
In another town, Magdar,
water’s affluence smashed
homes with oodles of fatalities.

Water is precious?
Yes, it is treasurable!
However enormous risk
is involved once it’s ubiquitous
Yet absence of it can’t be endured.