Analysis of The Rising Yellow Sun (Biafra Poem)

THE RISING YELLOW SUN
We all saw the lousy fearful storm,
Up the sky of our newborn town,
Everyone thought it’s a summer’s dawn,
Where there couldn’t be heavy rain nor storm;

We closed our ears to the weeping sky,
Even when the cloud was right in our eyes,
The suffering sky kept yelling in pain,
But all its calls were left in vain;

The cloud was just above us all,
East and South to West and North,
The West didn’t care because it’s against the east,
No one knew we would soon lose our peace;

The darkness reached its thickest depth,
The northern sky had turned to red,
The Eastern soil mourned its thousand loss,
The onset of the great exodus;

Back to the East everyone cried,
What a journey of thousand miles,
Some on feet both day and night,
Losing every sense of hope and smile;

The South East begged for a glimpse of light,
South South joined in awful cry,
Everyone needed a rising sun,
To bring the hope that had just gone;

Then rose a rising yellow sun,
From the shore of the roaring sea,
Everyone knew it’s too bloody deep,
But it’s light was enough that all could see;

Amidst the celebration of the new sunrise,
The day was still as dark as night,
A mix of light and darkness strife,
The roaring sea reached its highest tide;

A controversial friendship of North and West,
To deem the light of the rising sun,
The whole world watched the brutal game,
The media streamed the aweful scene;

Millions of lives both young and old,
Forced to face the shameful woe,
Bloodshed and famine showered like rain,
Millions forced to die in pain;

The stormy cloud had taken its rest,
May be waiting for another lucky day,
No victor no vanquish was all they claimed,
But that for sure wouldn’t raise the dead;

“Unity and peace” was all they hailed,
What an illusory unity of heaven and hell?
Would East and North really become friends?
That’s a story for another day;

Yes, we’ve all claimed to have won the game,
Forgetting the extreme loss and aimless pain,
The million ghosts still haunt to and fro,
Now the fate of our town is still unknown;

The rising yellow sun was forced to set,
But its bloodstain still shows its trail,
Its red-yellow light may not soon get set,
But it may forever be our nightmare;

Oh, you Rising Yellow Sun hear me now,
When shall thy true light come to stay,
That the souls of thy slain may find their rests,
Perhaps this thy wrath may have an end?

When shall thy children come back home,
From where they were scattered long ago,
When shall the great hope come to live,
So thy glory might fill the sky?
©️Abas Obot

The Rising Yellow Sun by Abas Obot is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://www.inspiredscoop.com/2022/03/the-rising-yellow-sun.html.