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Come,
let me take you to Nigeria
for you to hear a faint echoes of corruption;
I will be your hearing ear for the night we
spend there-
When they ask you the time of change,
tell them the messiah shall come from the east
with a cup of wine and pieces of kola nuts.
Tonight, we shall make their mouth a talking drum,
to tell our hands, our pens to write our discovery.
We shall dance before the naked moonlight,
not dumb but mouth gagged,
not lame but legs shackled,
we shall not write about something positive
even if we ought to write, we shall write of suffering?
Maybe it ok to see them sing stupidly,
are you so confused? I saw pity in your eyes.
Are you after their change sickness?
I really don't know anything about this land anymore
because they are so engrossed with their problems.
I slept and woke up still no change has come,
so permit me to write about the pains here.
I have nothing more to think sleeping on bed
of roses and waking on a sorrowful chain of change.
When they ask, you ask and I ask again,
remember, not all trees are tall in the forest.
Follow their cracking lips and you shall
see the shapeless pattern of their calamities.
"change is not our problem but we are our problem"
This you must tell them before we leave tonight.
When it is dawn,
we shall sip our tears with our lips then move
on with our lives waiting for the right time to ask
our oga at the top-
"When is the change, Mr President?"


©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration

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