Our Outcry by Ajise Vincent

I am not a silent poet

(for elephants in central Africa)

They, Poachers,
slaughter us — the large ones.
They put us in a basket
and herald nomenclatures of zest.

We are a generation
sold to the partial god of greed;

Wirra!
A sacrifice to appease
his famished progeny,extinction.

For blisters of woes
have been tattooed
on the nucleus of our dynasty.

And the foetus of our grace
has kicked the bucket
in the infirmary of salvation.

Help us. Please.

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