dove of peace

The dove of peace descends upon our land
Like wool of  dew . the dove of joy descends
Upon our land – on prettiest of fine sand.
Peace supreme reigns in hearts where love ascends,
Untouched by angry songs of naughty race,
Unspoilt by nagging broils we chant our new praise.

The happy face of delta smiles with joy.
Our coconut white teeth are tales of hope
That cleans the bloody red of our sad ploy.
When tethered by might of most wicked rope,
We raise our faces high to stars of love,
And lift our heads to songs of love above.
We have released , this day the dove of peace.
Her plumage, white as wool entrails blot out
Our cloudy fears ensanguined with red fleece.
We have released today the crows of doubt,
Our heavy fears are told by birds of woe,
To foreign lands, the home of alien foe.

They made rich deserts of lush verdant soil,
They sowed cruel barren plagues on fruitful maid,
Calm Deltan soils were stabbed with angry foil,
Unleashing ire that slays with fitful raid.
The withered grass shall sing a song of hope.
The barren souls shall with sweet peace elope.
War swam in our vexed veins with liquid fire.
Its bloody stains did seat in sinews of
Our hope, where ugliest passions sung with ire.
Danced with raw pyre in fashions fair and rough.
When we search peace from life’s cruel pangs and strife,
We hear the dove of peace with songs of life.
The muddy face of Deltan clime is stained
With showers of blood; with rains of bullet pain.
With pains of death , where evil passions rained,
And youthful flowers of doom were cut insane.
We look to the sweet bird with healing balm,
The balm of love that fills our face with clam.
Rare phantoms trees are mirrors of our fears,
Unsheathing swords that stab us with cruel death,
Molesting us with plagues we feared to bear,
With pangs we hate to love that choke our breath..
The dove of peace fills me with great mission,
The rare sweet dream of our inmost mission.

Our creeks were littered with the sins of night.
The calm of night saves souls from crudest blows.
Our creeks were stained with blood of gruesome fight
With blood of ire, that flows from guns of foes.
We shall cherish our peace like sweetest flower,
Like rarest stars that shine in happiest hour.
Like superstitious hills fear clims our hearts.
Its shady cloaks robe ue with pangs of war;
It shoots with madly spears and fiercest darts;
Its most malicious pangs beam like death star.
We must seek peace in our great world and wide.
The dove descends with wit of nine great saints.
Nine candles are lit to Menorah
Of our rite, that the gate of hell rents.
Nine saints have come to cure from warlike bluff.
The niger Delta has seen a dove of peace –
The nine great saints that grant the creeks peace lease.
St Ifa