Blood Sunday
I
Beats of Reggae
Roar/rumble in the air
And get mixed
With sunrise
In the village
Mirrors, windows
And doors
Greet the command/order
From the hard destruction
Of the hungry ones
And expectations
Of two decades.
Inside the shops
Waves of people
Rise, go down
And get up elsewhere
These shelves and walls
Change faces
Like branches of trees
When the hot season takes place.
Tools/gadgets of each family
Clothes of each colour
Take seat in the heads
Hang in the hands
Sleep on the backs
Or are pressed in the armpit
Changing dwelling/place
And reign/authority.
II Bullets
Start to whistle
And angrily
Dislocate/move suddenly the walls
Electric poles
Multicoloured cars
And meat and bones
People stagger
Blood flows/drips
Life slips down/glides
III
Suddenly
Beats of Reggae
Dry up
And songs of yesterday
Return in the air
Like stink that
Invades the nose again
After being brought down
By the destruction of heaven
From my kitchen
The road is clear/evident -
Multicoloured cars
Military tanks with blemishes/spots
Flow/trickle like a river,
Guns point to the left
On the right, in the back and front
(With) dangerous machine guns
Are set ready/are prepared in the sky;
This flow/trickling
Is a return trip
God-of-flexibility returns
On the platform [of the watchman guarding a field].
IV
In the understanding
Different/all kinds of thoughts
Go past/pass by in turns
Like butterflies and moths
Passsing by in groups
In front of the eyes;
Smiling
I remember Obasanjo[1]
And his clear/clever decision/verdict
But also
With sorrow
I remember Bokassa[2] na Amin,
And Mobutu and Doe[3],
And blood and skulls
A lot of skulls!
Wheels of thoughts
Reach a crossroad
And with time, get stuck
Before starting the journey again
In the clear/open road
Of the national government
Even when they are guided
[2] Jean-Bédel Bokassa, military officer and former head of state of the Central African Republic and its successor state, the Central African Empire
[3] Samuel Doe, former president of Liberia