For Biafra by Samuel Leumas Blueadonis

FOR BIAFRA
Home, is here;
Where twenty nine elders laid
their heads on the pillows of clay,
And gave up their ghosts as gifts
of starry apparitions to the atmosphere.

We share the spectre of their last
breaths and feelings in the clouds,
Through every mountains’ fog and dewy mist
on some jocund green leaves.

Home, is here;
Where countless graves
spit forth scarlet springs;
Now, there is a red sea,
At the backyard of our villages,
Flowing from the broken pots of our damsels;
A symbolism of lynched aspirations,
Hacked hopes and marred futures
in the embodiment of inspiration.

Home, is here;
Where we share our particles of smiles,
Near graves decorated with genocide,
Writing the names of countless bones,
On the frame of our heart posts.
With countless candles of smiles,
Lit with stars of laughter.
We will brighten our home,
Found on the solace of death,
As home is also life after tomorrow,
So I come home;
With love dedicated
to the lost particles of smiles
of the lost children,
Lost to the throat of six feet.

I’m at home
On the bed of sepulchres
Sleeping with the memories of our heroes
That gave their light to our home
Home is in the heart of the zealous minds
Sacrificed on the emblem of our Biafra

Home is in the bight of biafra
Buried under the soil of blight.
Motherland land on my heart
The loving slap of lightnings;
Let the spectre of gods glow,
May the clap of sprites
Light my soul with the voices of sparks.
I will gather these timbres
Of the dying republican home
In my baskets of emotion
Crafted with sensation

When blood is brine
The twenty nine elders
Knew their tears will be salty,
But the dew-eye moon
Was hurt with our bitter tears
As the huts of our grandmothers
Were raped with weapons of ghouls.

We are counting shattered and scattered
Shards of young men’s goals
That was the measurement of death.

Eclipse of spectre
Eclipse of smile
will be free from this moribund.

No broken flutes;
But resucitation,
Awakening,
and rejuvenation.
Home is in the music of our fathers
In the living songs of warriors of Ohafia.

Our spiritual fervent flames
Create halo of hopes,
On the head of the biafran night,
A guide to our diaspora destinies.

Oh’ Biafra,
The sum total of spectre of smiles
On the lightnings of our laughter
Near the animistic window of wonders
Are the thunderous strikes of Evergreens
the fecundity of our ethnicity
Oh Biafra,
filled the cauldron of my soul with thunderous storm and strikes.

Even if I shall go through twenty nine hills
To meet my brethren in the village of the afterlife,
Because that is the spirit of the evermore.
Home will still be wherever we are
When we remember Biafra!