Cold Blood: A Poem in Memory of a Life Taken
In cold blood, he was pierced beneath the shroud of midnight. He screamed, yet the night swallowed his voice as life slipped away. The moon bore witness, but no one looked up to see. A warning came in a dream, yet no one stirred to act. He was ambushed in the sanctuary of his home and dragged away by masked men. They left grief among family and friends, ending a life over a matter that did not merit even the blood of a hen. This poem mourns Iyobu Augustus Nemieboka, murdered on the night of July 31, 25 years ago.
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