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In Africa 3 min read
REPENTED BOKOHARAM
<p>They say a thousand former flames</p><p>have been poured into new bottles</p><p>carried from Borno State</p><p>to the marble heartbeat of Abuja</p><p><br/></p><p>Fire now filed as forgiven</p><p>flames now framed as freedom</p><p><br/></p><p>Repentance, rebranding, relocation</p><p>a rhythm of words wrestling with worry</p><p><br/></p><p>But worry will not wilt</p><p>it widens, it wakes, it watches</p><p><br/></p><p>Tell me</p><p>how does a scar sit with the steel that split it</p><p>blade to blood, bruise to breath</p><p>and not break again</p><p><br/></p><p>How does a grave greet the grief that grew it</p><p>dust to dusk, pain to pulse</p><p>and still call it peace</p><p><br/></p><p>Boko Haram</p><p>was not a whisper</p><p>it was a wildfire</p><p>wild winds whipping through weak walls</p><p>leaving lives in layers of loss</p><p><br/></p><p>You cannot perfume a battlefield</p><p>make mud into meadow</p><p>turn ruin into roses</p><p><br/></p><p>You cannot dress a wound in uniform</p><p>stitch scars with slogans</p><p>and sell it as healing</p><p><br/></p><p>Because trauma talks in textures</p><p>it trembles, it turns, it travels through time</p><p><br/></p><p>They say reformed</p><p>but the past performs in patterns</p><p>echoes in actions</p><p>lingers in looks we cannot read</p><p><br/></p><p>And now</p><p>far from our fires</p><p>voices rise across the sea</p><p><br/></p><p>United States</p><p>whispers warnings through its walls</p><p>embassies echoing exit, evacuation, emergency</p><p><br/></p><p>Foreign fears finding form in flight</p><p>diplomats departing,</p><p>signals sent without speeches</p><p><br/></p><p>If those who watch from windows afar</p><p>are worried enough to withdraw</p><p><br/></p><p>What then of those within the walls</p><p><br/></p><p>Repentance should be a river</p><p>rushing with reason, rich with reckoning</p><p>not a shallow stream of statements</p><p><br/></p><p>Where is the truth that tests the tongue</p><p>where is the justice that joins the journey</p><p><br/></p><p>Because what we see</p><p>feels like smoke shaping safety</p><p>soft, shifting, suffocating</p><p><br/></p><p>And the people</p><p>we breathe in fear, we bear its weight</p><p>we speak in questions stitched with caution</p><p><br/></p><p>Are we safe</p><p>secure or simply silent</p><p>protected or just patient</p><p><br/></p><p>Is this peace</p><p>or a pause dressed in promises</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>Safety is not movement of men</p><p>it is mending of minds</p><p><br/></p><p>Until then</p><p>Nigeria walks like a thought in the dark</p><p>careful, calculated, constantly checking</p><p><br/></p><p>Because when yesterday’s terror</p><p>returns in tailored uniforms</p><p><br/></p><p>and tomorrow’s allies</p><p>quietly pull away</p><p><br/></p><p>Even hope</p><p>steps slow</p><p>speaks soft</p><p>and stands unsure</p><p><br/></p><p>And still we ask</p><p>not in anger but in awareness</p><p><br/></p><p>Are we safe</p><p>or just surviving a story still unfolding</p><p><br/></p><p>Muhammad Mercurial🖋️</p>

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