By Chidi Anthony Opara
Herds graze
On our farmlands,
Herdsmen
With long guns
On shoulders hung
Gaze
At us with hate,
Ready to gun us
If we grumble.
The pubic places
Of our women
Are not spared
Their forceful entry,
Our sacred places
Are not spared.
Another horde of herdsmen
In the capital city
With bags of propaganda
On shoulders hung
Hold our future hostage.
As they graze,
Herds trample
On the tranquility
Of the land
And our biles boil.
(Poem presented as social service, all rights reserved)
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