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Poem
Has your grandma told you how 
she queued to collect a cup of rice
at the campaign ground?
Has your father narrated to you how he was paid to steal the ballot papers? 
Has you been told how your mother shot a 
man down for a politician?
and now,  you are a thug for them! 
You're suffering from the same greed rust that peeled your heels like a yam tubers that goat menacely tear. 

Your uncle told us a snake swallowed
 the money meant for his office & we 
all rubbed our stomach & left him alone. 
We never chased the snake in the street.
Your auntie told a tale of how a monkey cart away with her  money & we smiled at her tale without asking how! Can she still spill sparky sperm in billion?
Do not sit by the door post and weep!
Do not say anything to the abandoned firewood that told of our foregone lives. 


Weep not, son, for the gods have
woken from the laps of a prostitute.
Those who cried under the rain we've seen 
their tears dangling on their chin. 
Political slavery is not skin deep than us,  
We made it arose from that creeping serpent 
that crawled unseen to bite. 
Do not ask of my name as a poet cos
I am as ageless as the lonely cloud,
Just know what I have scribbled now. 
You and I killed Nigeria before time. 

Our history was never baked in our school,
 it was baked by whitemen creed, 
They dragged us to the mud to believe what 
they told us was right not left. 
Weep not, daughter,  your mother was 
One of the cause of this tolls of death.
We are the fading sigh of everything
we long for & the echoes of our beings. 
Our leaders are made from one cloth, 
Same blood crossed path and they killed 
Brutally in the mind of beloved mother. 

My greed, our greed,  your grandma's,
Your father's, your Uncle's and yours;
Killed our mother before the universe.
There is an empty music in our voices, 
You drum to your left, Obi, to his right;
You wagged your tail,  Obi waved his
Hand & we never gets to a vocal point. 
I am burning my body as a poet to stay 
alive for you and for this land, for my
Eyes is a mirror to revolution of thought. 
We're killing Nigeria ourselves in a ditch 
of greed and corruption. 


Yours Poetically,
.©John Chizoba Vincent
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