You see blood dripping from trees
Blood painting the walls
Blood flooding the street
Blood of the innocent
Paying for their harmlessness
That is my home
The tall house
With broken walls
Punches of stray bullets
Smashing the roof and glasses
If you listen, you will hear
The birds chanting the songs of conquest
If you look, you will see
The warms dancing vigorously on the victims
It is now a abattoir of destinies
I do not have a home
Listen and listen
You will hear dirges from the lips
Of dying mother
And you hear Lamentations
From the broken lips of weary daughters
Sons fleeing from the fathers
I do not have a home
My street is now a cemetery
Where mass graves are made
Mass burial becomes a celemonial ritual
The grand protect of my home
Picks his tooth as we hide in bushes and forest
Drawnig in waters and drying in desserts
I do not have a home
Scripted By; JK Anyanwu
Calabar, Nigeria
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