African poem, the hunter's gun

African Poems About Death : The Hunter’s Gun

African poems about death are the tale of a noble country. In the beauty I pride myself.
Dancing with the Stars, enjoying my sandcastle hut With palm wine and friends, feeling alive with the cool breeze of nature, hoping for better days for my children.

Then one day, he came with a smiling face and opened hands.
I embraced it. Happy to meet a new friend. A friend who will change our past. A friend who will educate me, a friend who will care for my African mother by providing health care, a friend who cares about me and my safety on the road. That is the friend I embraced but my joys were short-lived.


Run, run, run my daughter, cried mother. He is the hunter run.
Run my child, he has come to take blood. Do not be clouded by his smiles, his palms may be soft but it has taken a life. His hands are open to taking yours too. Run my child, as fast as your legs can. He is not a friend.
Run.

Lust in his power, the hunter ceased my breath. Leaving me lifeless to the open winds. Was I wrong to embrace him? Should I have waited longer? Where did I go wrong? Did I ask for too much? Why did I not hear on time when mama called? Is this my end? Is this the reality of African poems about death? 

I could hear mama crying, oh my poor child, you’ve been caught in the hunters net. You’ve been fooled by his smile. The gods of our land heal our soul. The gods of our land save my child. The gods of our land grant us to rest in these times of distress.

All I wanted was justice. Justice for a future. Justice to be treated as a human and not an animal. Justice to freely walk the streets and watch the stars paint beautiful images.
Justice to say no when it matters.
All I needed was justice and a life worthy of admiration.

As my poor soul lye opens in the field, I remember the songs of my youth. Freedom lies in the hand of the beholder. Justice will prevail if you hold on to your rights and the fight for freedom.
Beauty lies within the heart.
Love is a selfless act.
But I am consumed. Erupting with hate. Hate for the hunter.

He raped my innocence. Locked my tomorrow in a box and travelled to a faraway land. Took away my dreams and happiness on a black Thursday on October 20th 2020. He wins. The hunter wins the fight. The fight for justice. I am too frail to fight back. Who will save me?

Lust in his power, He shot at me twice. My voice drives him mad.
Beautiful vultures he called, go and meet your ancestors. You who think you can challenge my authority. You who think you can get justice. You who think you have the freedom of speech.

One by one he shot at us.

African poem, the hunter's gun

As my black blood drew the map of Nigeria in the open fields, I took a peek at my end.  Wondering what I would have done differently.

So long friends, adieu.

Dedicated to all those young and vibrant youths in Nigeria who lost their lives in the fight for justice and freedom of expression. 

Though you were not given justice proper funeral rites, you are not forgotten. Your stories will be sung in the four corners of the earth for generations to come. Thanks for fighting for me for a better Nigeria.  

I thank you friends for being here. Do share in my sad heart as I pay respect to my fallen brothers and sisters.

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