When Our Stories Shall Be Told
When
our
stories
shall
be
told
and
our
chronicles
opened:sad
empty
tales.
Who
will
not
spit
and
denounce
such
shameful
tales?,
what
eye
shall
prode
on
it
without
reeling
a
curse.
An
era
that
polished
their
gourds
with
the
blood
of
their
dead
and
in
it
intered
their
natal
milk.
What
eye
shall
view
such
shame?
What
tongue
shall
tell
such
tales?
Such
stories...such
history,let
it
forge
a
pole
star,to
draw
our
feet
lest
we
stumble
again,or
our
children
consider
an
ominious
alternative
as
we
did.
Promising
though
it
sounds;beguilling
in
fact
that
history
teaches
us
nothing,than
the
nostalgic
euphoria
of
once
upon
a
time.
It
grinds
frenzied
chronicles
into
an
inert
dust
of
mere
reminiscence
and
few
leave
the
detritus
unaltered.
Even
the
remains,though
authentic
or
hoax,complete
or
distorted
kicks
us
in
the
face
and
we
ferry
them
like
gatekeepers
across
the
river
of
greed
as
a
frivolous
otiose
hanging
painfully
on
our
neck.
So
when
our
stories
shall
be
told,either
by
groits
or
paid
minstrels;of
our
self
inflicted
doom.
What
ear
shall
hear
such
tales:sad
tragic
stories
and
not
laugh
mournfully.
Copyright © Light Obi | Year Posted 2013
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