The soft footfalls of those who
Vanished in the dark thunderstorms
Ring towards my dimly-lit room
Advancing shadows ducking searchlights
Their voices cracked and broken:
A bloody blur fading into night, echoes
Leave behind silhouettes
Of nightmares, abandoned mutilated hopes, behind
They shower sad, beaten flowers, scarred
Broken men, spirits whipped and tortured
Chains exerting their iron grip
On their necks, stiffling each forming word;
The shadow behind each life
Lingers after the life itself has been snuffed.
The dark rain curtains off those in exodus.
— for Innocent —
Frank Mkalawile Chipasula
EDITOR’S NOTE
Originally published in West Africa on 25 Oct 1982, p. 29. This diplomatic transcription preserves the wording and lineation visible in the archived page.