Come Brother

Come Brother,
Shall we sheathe our swords
And play this game of many words
With this lineage of wise men
Who have sown the seed of discord
That fetters us now with many cords?

Come Brother,
Shall the land then have peace and prosper
When our Brother we have slain?
Shall guns salute us as heroes
When our proud standard billows,
Or history call us Cain?

(Port Harcourt)

poem by William Eke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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