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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required We've waited this long to see the dead trees spring up again but No one is moving the mountain; All we see are accusation fingers Going up and down, left and right. When will mother get better again? When will mother be cure of the Madness that runs in her prime circle? Is there no more Chinua' Okonwos in The Land that could shield mother? Mother is never an unease land where All the fingers are not equally made. Her breast milk is enough for all mouths But it has been channelled to one path, Where only few get to taste her wealthy milk. We've waited this long to sing a new song on our mother's recovering yet no song is seen. Which physician is treating her here? Which Dentist is checking her teeth? What about her eyes, which optician is there?! Do you know how much we miss her doctor? No call, no letter from a mother of peace. Her green vegetables are falling day by day, The horses on her coat are voiceless and weak, The Eagles moan and agony ceased not. When will mother get better, Doctor? Her arms seek our embrace and love! Should we chase the moon from the night race? Should we blind the sun from the earth? Should we go on fighting the earthly death? What shall we do to make mother better? The planted plant now look at our large mouth, The cricket in August cease to drum to ears, Our mother is sick we know that but when Will she get better Mr Presi-doctor? We wait your response to clear our doubt. (C) John Chizoba Vincent Voice Of Vincent 2016
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