Food were drained,
Dehydration swallowed their lungs,
Poverty telegraphing in their midst,
Care they didn't meet,
Cholera vomiting grotesque dust of bad health on them.
Yet they dodge the punches of death,
To them I say F.O.S.
To those whose minds were raped,
By the boom boom sound of boko's alarm.
Their heart bleeds,
Splitting and tearing their bodies apart,
Paralyzed on hospital bed,
They were caressed by the cold hand of coma.
Yet death withdrew its from them.
To them I say F.O.S.
To my brothers, your brothers
My sisters, your sisters
Who catapulted themselves,
In the war front like Urial.
Aliens tormented them,
Cold raped their minds,
Fear kissed them,
But the sun smiled at them.
And death made way for them.
To them I say F.O.S.
To the ones who were visited by HIV,
AIDS came climbing with no aid.
This virus sang dirge to their health,
This virus they couldn't bribe with wealth,
Tested, the result blinks positive,
This virus has come like a thief,
But the lord breath on them,
And the result turns negative.
To them I say F.O.S.
To my mother, your mother,
My father, your father
Who eat the cramp in the damp,
Working tooth and nail, sleeping in the camp,
Prayed and sang.
Cold battered them,
Harmattan hammers them,
Yet they keep struggling to make sure we survive.
To them I say F.O.S.
To my brethren in the lord,
Who wine and dine in evangelism,
Megaphone now sound system,
Piercing the truth in our system.
They were tortured,
Brutality smashed their faces,
Cains created zebra crossings on their back.
Pathetic persecution travels in their marrow,
But they still see tomorrow.
To them I say F.O.S.
To the innocent ones,
Who were taken by force to prison,
No crime they committed and no reason.
Chains bounded them,
Sack clothes covered them.
Hot iron planted tattoos on their chest,
Starvation weep for them,
They were clustered with dirt,
Yet they didn't tasted death.
To them I say F.O.S.
To those lasses in campus,
Threatened to be failed by lecturers,
Coz they refuse selling their bodies.
Books installed in their brains,
Brilliancy their gift,
Decency their habit,
Integrity their duty,
Torment from lecturers travelled in their vein,
Yet the still graduated with first class degree.
To them I say F.O.S.
To our brothers in campus
Threatened in full force by cultists,
Tormented to belong,
Yet they refuse to go along.
Their joy lost itself in mistiness,
They were deprived of happiness,
Campus become a dungeon for them,
Yet the stood on their ground, saying no to cultism.
To them I say F.O.S.
To Africans and our stigma,
Our mark of enthusiasm lost,
Our ship turns cheap,
Leaders turns rulers.
We are now Judged by our complexion not character,
Our hospitals downtrodden,
Schools fallen,
Houses sank,
Famine seen,
Tears rolled down our cheek,
Yet we still live.
To us I say F.O.S.
NB: F.O.S in this poem means Full Of Strength
©Copyright
#Sunsampaul d Philosopher
