SOURCE : PINTEREST

Headlines,
Five dead, Huts burnt.

All so familiar,
But thank God, so far away.

High rise buildings,
Bungalows,
Tucked away in safety,
In cities, with no burning huts in sight.

We shut our eyes,
Stuff our ears
To blood soaked floors
Of raffia roofed houses.

To mud walls stained red
To screams silenced by urban walls

Flip through pages,
Muttering prayers of thanks
That death and fires are far away.

Ignoring the savagery,
Of slit throats
That spoke no offense.

There is nothing wild,
We think
About the fires that burn in the villages.

Machine guns only roam
The dust of small settlements.

Unnamed.
Unknown.

Fires draw close,
Wild fires burn down city gates.

S. I. Ibe