Rooftops

From the thatched rooftop
Of my grandfather’s hut
I wonder what happens
Beneath the other roofs.
But all these houses put on
Either grass or metallic caps
To protect their inhabitants
From the rain and the wind;
From the sun and human eyes.
And so that God will not see
The sins that are committed
Everyday beneath them.
And though the walls do listen
To the shouts and wails
Of innocent female children,
Whose uncles use their islands
To hunt for treasures in their seas;
The roofs have no mouth to spit out,
What their eyes have seen.
And silently they go untold,
So many murders and suicides,
And tales of mothers -who sew sides
Of torn clothes, to feed their children-
Being punched and bashed and battered,
By drunk husbands every night.
I wish these rooftops weren’t here,
So that God will see also
What these roofs see:
The inhumanity of these humans.
And maybe they’ll be more careful
For they will fear God’s eyes,
And the scorching sun,
And the rains and winds and all elements.
Then the newly wedded couple
Too(two) will become one,
Beneath the smiles of a thousand stars
As they bear witness to the unity of souls.
I wish these rooftops were not here,
Then my grandfather’s rooftop would not be here,
Then myself too, would not be here.

Tomide Abdul X Younglan Louis