This Is Lagos

This is Lagos- a welcoming address to all dignities an old sermon preached by three wisemen no praises or pleasantries at the entrance gate Come and face your death or life warrant in a no man's land but everyone's home The walls of the streets are filled to its brim the good, the bad, the ugly, and the wild Yoga girls parading in a lost emotions Skimpy skirt Lucifers ruining many men Yahoo boys fan smiling coals into money Spinners spin the spindle of the morning Spreading on their wings are skyscrapers, Oceans greeting in a pleasant radiation... In her bosom are cruel hustlers borrowing the Earful clamour of the day. "No sweat, no sweet" every toddler sings Traffic holds down to ransome the hurrying legs of yellow and black buses whose courage is like shield This is Lagos- the flag of Nigeria Where floating slums swallow innocent eyes Carbonated air blares out the lungs to rot the streets are strict and tough- A ghetto filled environment taking away the innocence of girls and boys of tomorrow clapping hands of generators trumpeting all over- Agberos wagging their lips in every corner... "Owo mi da! Ori e ti daru! Funmi lowo joor!" This is Lagos- A mad woman feeding many selfish children; children of malnutrition Patients of hunger and wants Hospitals have no remedy to them all The future of children unborn charged with the fierce urgency of thunder of agony... Million voices of shouting churches and mosques yet, evil harvests more souls daily Lagos is killing us, yet, we remain cushioned with hopes and dreams We are drenched and smashed by suffering, Bodies tasted own blood and sweat Eyes tasted own tears and sorrow but they are not too far from dawning Lagos is killing me! Lagos is killing me! but the retribution never break our wings Is there a flesh of new and old meaning to this gloomy joyful lagos story? We have never been more to her than hustling, bustling and breaking her soul into pieces When the old cold night arrives- Birds sleep no more, men hunt and haunt more, Cars horns rumpled on cracking voices She keeps vigil all night against her wish because she has to keep her children from their needs. This is Lagos- a no man's land, everyone's land- Come make your bread or make your death Roses are not grown here... You who has seen not Lagos, follow my swinging ink who refuses to hide and speak; for Lagos lives in your bravity tabled at the coasting ocean in the west. ©John Chizoba Vincent From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration