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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In Chibok once, I met a maid, three hundred was her name. Brim-filled with hope and not afraid, her life like sheets was plain. She had a mother and a dad, her siblings were her joys. For these her love was not a fad, there might have been a boy. She told me how (tone innocent), she’d want to change the world. She was so sure and on it bent that life was all she’d want. I saw a country in her dreams, a state not like today. They falsely pledged to never bring. She swore our renegade. And as I versed kibaki, light, I happened on a mom. She whispered soft with great delight, “I bore a treasure chest”. I wondered how a chest could bring out of a woman’s womb, Until she chose to un-riddle by patting her child’s head. She spoke! “My daughter is my life”, and wrapped her with herself. A child’s mother so satisfied with no more than one birth. “I did not seek your oil crude; I did not want your gems, I had no cause to nurse a feud, I had my little girl”. The wildest smile I’d ever seen that tore a father’s face. I’d thought he was smiling at me. Rear me she was, a pace. He sped past me to unburden the clay-pot on her head. He wiped the drops that kept rolling down her face with his shirt. If fulfillment had a grimace, it won’t be happier. Unfettered elation; the plague. A dad; the carrier. In Chibok now I miss a maid, three hundred’s still her name. Her life’s a sheet that plain remains, her bed’s forever made. Three hundred futures are missing and we don’t recognize, We’ve lost great heroes untimely, compatriots, O arise. I happened on that mom again, I happened on her fright. Delight replaced with apex pain, with not a ray of light. She has all causes to be brute, she’s lost her little girl, A mother is insatiable, a mother hasn’t slept.
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