THE COUNTED HOURS
The symphony of the end game plays
Like it’s been playing for days
But now, the din is a little bit nearer
And the guilty is afraid
Gbagbo, the vanquished knows
That the boots of the victorious are close
And the inevitable
Is upon his door
Besieged, tail tucked between thighs
To the bunker, he hides
Clinging stubbornly to the last thread
Of a fast disappearing life
Backed in the corner,
My voice is not the voice of a martyr
He says
I seek no death or its lover
But these are the counted hours
And the keg of gun powder
Has been set aburning
No turning back, for the reward of this war is power
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