Oh, my anguish, my anguish! I writhe in pain. Oh, the agony of my heart!
My heart pounds within me, I cannot keep silent.
For I have heard the sound of the trumpet; I have heard the battle cry.
I writhe in pain for the blood of comrades which floods the drains
For the flood of fright that ravages the frail, feeble and faint of heart
I lay drained of strength, sapped by the endless tyranny and torrid rain
When men of darkness hold in their grip, the reins of my existence
And their reign is as the cycle of day and night – perpetual
I writhe in pain as Jeremiah, the broken bard
Whose eyes beheld the smog and the bloodied smoke…
Whose voice was laced with the anguish of a soul laid bare on the anvil
And stricken with the hammer blows of fear and destruction
I writhe in pain, my entire being shriveled up at the sight that lies before me
As the sun drags me fiercely from the comforts of my homely confines
Night finds me in a pool of my tears, writhing, writing…
For I write in pain, squeamish you may call me
For the salt of the earth complains of a salt less heart
And the light of the world is frightened of a darkened war-torn path
I am woozy with worry, dizzy with despair
For like rascals, they rage malevolent with mischief as their race cars
Brothers in arms, with an unholy charm – Boko Haram
Ripping hearts open, scarring the earth, bringing hurt and harm
Misled by a promise of a voluptuous harem
I writhe in pain