THE DEAD, Poetry by Lekan Malik

Oh callous generation
That would not even allow the dead to rest peacefully
In there sweet dark grave.
Now, they party on us,
They sit on us to gossip.
Our graves are now meeting places
For secret lovers, even at nights, without fear
Their children now excrete on our dusty faces
And also quench our thirst with their acidic urine.
They cover us with their stinky rags
And also lampooned our epitaphs.
They show us no respect, no fear.
They don’t pay us homage again.
Our protection don’t count anymore
Yet, they call us wastes.
We too have silent talks down here
But they distract us by throwing phlegm.
They turn our graves into beds
By spreading their bed bug infested mattresses.
They brood and fart expressly into our decayed mouths.
This age evicts us anyhow
As they greedily exhume us
And transfer us from grave to grave.
Or leave us there
For the government to lay roads like mats
For their vehicles
To accelerate on our decomposed bellies.

(C) Lekan Malik