6.
It's funny,all my life I was praised for my talent.
For my skill with words but alas my words couldn't save me from the flames.
The mob were angry, sticks broke upon my back, cans of petrol washed my wounds and a match stick brought me warmth.
And all I remember saying was "please please I'm innocent"
But alas my words made no impart.
Anyways the fire was terribly hot.
YOU ARE READING
Hear my Voice
PoetryA collection of stories, poems and write ups based off the #endsars, #endcorruption protest. A thousand voices, echoing a song of home Our feet stamping the ground, marking our last stand Against men and women of a forgotten era Against Injustice, A...
