the robbery tale

Early one morning, after the cool night

Had kept its vigil in slumber hour,

It began its time to sleep for the bright

Sun to wake and stay for its hot shower.

In the town of Ore, a bank lay silent

All through the night with the moon and its glow.

This morning, the bank was awake, innocent

Of what was creeping to it fast and slow.

Oh, words of inspiration, I need a muse

To make me mould this tale and good words use!

It was busy as usual this morning.

Markets and traders here, pedestrians there,

Vehicles moving forth and back, horns honking;

Everything moved like busy ants everywhere.

Like lightning and to everyone’s wonder,

A truck, painted in black, speedily struck.

Cars screeched as the stop made pulses shudder.

What thundered? Bang! Bang! It came from the truck!

A blow in the air! The pause was pregnant.

They startled, scuttled, muddled, that instant.

Encased in the truck were four gentlemen

Whose faces were clad in a dreaded scare,

As if their souls were sold in the devil’s den.

They waited awhile for anyone who will dare.

Bullets rained from their guns up in the air;

They shot in torrents as they stepped out down.

Birds at flight hid for the air was not fair.

Drivers, walkers took to their heels up ‘n’ down town.

At once, the town was quiet and scanty.

As some crouched beneath shields, stalls were empty.

The town beheld the boot of their fierce feet.

With guns pointed up, the gang shot, Bang! Bang!

Their guns were still; their steps made the one beat

As they marched their way, with their steel fang,

To the bank that was still, a safe to the

Shaky managers and first customers

Who didn’t trust the bullet-proof entry.

To break in, Bang! Bang! Shot the armed robbers.

The bullets from their guns rained in torrents

And were like small stones hitting hard cements.

Meanwhile, the police heard of the attack

But were like the Iroko tree that won’t budge,

Even with the message of the wind’s track.

They sat firm, for the fear of death, to dodge.

Then came from the spirit strength and courage

In four of them to guard their town and ’fend

The folks in the bank from further damage.

With their car they went, the robbery, to end.

They approached the bank, their hearts in their hands.

They approached the bank, their life in God’s hands.

The police, scared, stopped some miles ’fore the bank.

In the car, they prayed to what God they had.

Their fear was veiled but in it, their heart sank.

Off the car they went, in mufti they clad.

They surged forward the bank like an arrow

Shot for its target. The sun had turned on

Its light for leaves and flowers to borrow.

The gang, tired of the futility of their gun,

Sought another way around the cash hold.

Two went ’round to check; two stayed the road.

The four police went separate ways to hide.

One stealthily stayed behind a red shop,

Two went to a house next to the bank to bide,

The last furtively climbed a house atop.

The gang never knew about this move made

But looked around ready for a mean bout.

Shock swamped on their vigil with a cascade;

One shot killed one, so were others snuffed out.

The police gave them mortal wounds to grave;

They would have lived did they honest life crave.

Blood streamed like river from their lifelessness.

The air in the town was soaked in tension.

People trooped out with horror and happiness

(Feelings mixed) ‘n’ gazed at death in attention

I could hear sounds-heart beat like in a pound.

Murmuring started all of a sudden,

‘That is mister Mazi’s son on the ground’,

Said a woman with a forehead sunken.

‘If this kind of police be in all states,’

A man said, ‘there will be no house with gates’.