The contours on our faces

are not dimples associated with smiles,

neither are they tribal-marks of yore.

They are autographs of woes etched by sufferance.

The tattoos on our conscience

are not emblems of remembrance,

neither are the boulevards that beautify serenity.

They are scars inflicted on us by fate.

We’ve tilled the earth,

rummaged around heaven’s vault,

seeking for the primordia of our glory.

Lo! All has been vain.

But despite all travails,

we are optimistic to survivance,

for soon, we will hear tunes of blessings

blaring forth from the larynx of our grace.

it will pass.

                                         ~Ajise Vincent

                                            Lagos, Nigeria

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