The Last Song

{ For Ese and Other 25 Nigerian Women Who Died In The
Mediterranean Sea While Crossing Into Italy from Libya }

26 wooden coffins spread on a stone dais:
a white rose for each on the lid.

Now the flames of grief from the hearts
of sympathizers
have burnt the flesh of my Poetry…

And rains breaking
from the desert of their eyes have

been drowning a thousand silences
standing before post-mortem candles
flickering in solemn goodnight.

The grey womb of Salerno will house
you and others for eternity in the
dignity of humanity
which your homeland will play Judas.

“My country is a naked Sahara, stifling life.
A closed casket where today sleeps
in the carcasses of tomorrow,” you said with a heart
full of ageless graves,

Before travelling to pluck springs in a
land where fields are green with succulent
breasts and pointed nipples, to water

your parched home you left with torn
kinsmen waiting for your homecoming springs
to wash off the ageless dusts of privation.

But water was your enemy. Water was your
crossroads. It could have seen the stretched
scars of a broken clime in your smile.

It could have seen the scary sores on the streets
of your thighs after numberless phalli played forced
pornography inbetween
in Bani Walid.

It could have seen the sterile clouds hanging
on the afterbirths of your dreams.

But it let you and others to sink with a rickety
boat until your existence became absence.

If you had known you would have stayed
back and joined us in this wilderness called
home, breaking stones with teeth to survive,
wiping tears and blood from brows from
dawn to night.

Oh! You would have!
Dear comrades, you would have…

Madu Chisom Kingdavid