This is not to instigate war. It's rather a warning to the deaf ears in the corridor of power. If nothing is done, swiftly enough, to curtail the mayhem unleashed by Fulani 'headsmen', the trampled shall one day grow spikes and pierce the oppressor to his very soul.

Poem 5: The Cowboys

Cold morning of harmattan

Your cattle and boys rode into my town 
Gunned all the women and children down
Blew up our barns in our face
Set our drought struck farms ablaze
Rode your mules on our maize to graze
Where there was hope now empty space...
Who dares resist your light train pace?
You own the land, oh cowboys.


Armed and dangerous 
From North you trickle down southwards
Grazing heads
For your skinny herds
Breaking hearts like chinaware
Who dares raise dusty brows
Against your bow and arrows?

The king's favourite you are

So your silver bullets makes him smile.
My mothers can weep
My fathers can flee
My brothers they take to the streets...
The king, he frowns 
He bares his fangs
Like a masked man blinded by his friends...
And none can stop the cowboys.

Rustling cows and loaded guns
Run down towns
Just before dawn
We are caught off guard.

Enough cowboys! 

We'll chase you long and hard 
To show you how it feels to be scarred
We'll feed you same fears that mapped our scars...
We shall glaze your heads
We shall graze your herds
We are just farm boys
But we shall reap on you
The seed of fear you sowed in us!

You may be the king's kinsman

but here we know the hangman
Over that tree where you lie in wait
And conspire to raid and maim
Is dangling the hangman's noose
Waiting wild to be let loose 
Wanted you are on our hearts' wall
Haunted we are, soon your tears must fall.

Who dares the raging cowboys?

Aye! We do and it won't be a draw!