Long Kidnappers Poems
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Dreaming of the past,
Remembering, feeling, despair.
It is not the same as any family.
Wishing, hoping, praising.
To survive knowing All is Lost.
Nothing can be gained from the,
Fantasies of dreaming of a,
Family we can never have.
Overheard conversations,
" You know she will find out."
Now I understand,
Now I can finally,
See the light as it is,
Where all was presumed to be dark.
Looking, seeking, and Searching,
For any information I can find.
No Birth certificate,
No pictures when I was a baby.
I am a lost child.
Knocking Knocking,
I open the door to my prison.
In a fog I see black suits,
FBI on their jackets.
Talking, Talking, not hearing, not believing,
I'm in a daze the only words I hear,
"You were taken" by the same people,
Who I thought loved me in fact,
They were my kidnappers.
I fall into the arms of these strangers,
As I hear the clank of the handcuffs,
Being snapped on the wrists ,
Of my abductors.
A woman in the crowd walks up,
And slapps the female in sheep's clothing,
Yelling at her as she is led away.
I look into the eyes of my savior,
Knowing in my heart who she is.
She runs calling me "Sam"
My name is Sam as tears glide,
Down my face I fall into the arms,
Of my mother calling her MaMa.
Holding her so tight never letting her go,
So I will never be "Little Girl Lost"
In a police report ever again.
The rumbling and shovelling
Pandemonium and desecration
The killings and maiming of souls
Boko harambee, the harem of
murderers
The genie let loose, murder
incorporated,
Unlicensed to kill
It's the wild! wild!! North on
the brink!
The north overrun
The hounds on the run
The hunt only just began.
Boko haram has taken the
center stage
The grave is filling, yet it takes
more and more dead.
It's the Wild! Wild!! North on
the brink.
(Written on the 2nd May, 2015)
N.B. presently Boko haram, Killer herdsmen, bandits, kidnappers and others have overran Nigeria and overwhelming the Security forces.
Birches took a vote after the child left the forest
Next time, two wanted to capture her, to keep her always
Ninety-six others voted this was wrong.
The magical birch had a new idea.
Let me create a phantom child who will traverse the river.
She will be seen only in moonlight, and she will laugh like this one.
Her titters will uplift us, and make us joyous as the two legs sleep.
The two potential kidnappers groused, but the rest agreed to a trial.
Magical birch called on all of the nocturnal creatures for input.
Fox chose her hair. Raccoon chose her shape. Owl chose her laugh.
She was created into the water a few hours before the sun rose.
The forest woke up to her glorious laugh, and felt excited and joyful.
What shall we name her? Bee asked. She disappeared at that moment.
The sun had risen. Name who? Grasshopper asked, having missed her.
The night creatures smirked, happy she belonged to them alone.
A name was a great idea. They decided upon Diana of the Birches.
The magic birch was deemed the official Birch Maestro.
He created other creatures for the forest, propelled by this success.
If you see her reflection, please pass by without a fuss.
The forest of the night likes to think she is unseen by two legs.
I lollygag as much as I can
As I travel from meadow to prairie
Grandma packs me a lunch
Knowing she will not see me for hours
It is 1960. She is not frightened I will be found dead
Kidnappers only go after the Lindbergh baby.
I reach a fence and sit down,
open my grandpa’s secondary black lunch box.
Pull out the water and take a big swig.
It is lukewarm, but it is okay today.
I am eight; not picky, just glad to be alive.
Grasshoppers, and a ladybug call my name.
My identical twin sister is back at the house
Pleasing grandma, cooking, cleaning, baking.
Doing all the things girls not like me like to do.
I am irritated that I was not born a boy.
I am a pirate, a pilot, a race car driver.
I am so damned mad to be an eight-year-old-girl.
Boys are allowed to yell out the answers. Damn it!
Eat the sandwich a voice urges me.
I really want to, but it’s early so I just take a pinch of it.
Peanut butter and jelly. Maybe another tiny bite.
I polish it off and stare at the apple.
I was irritated when grandma made me take it.
Now I’m rethinking that.
I hop the fence and get pricked on the barbed wire.
This is irritating! Maybe I should have listened to grandpa’s advice.
Never go over the fence. But I am there now.
I follow a well-worn path to a little brook.
Take off my shoes and socks, wade around.
It is so cold and delightful. There are tiny things swimming.
I strain my eyes but have no idea what they are.
A weird cough. I look up to see the flash of a white tail deer.
Almost perfect day. More perfect if I had been a boy.
Several times I have glances of a,
Past life in a time that is,
So familiar to me, just not this one.
The one thing I always remember is a,
Woman whose beauty and those,
Deep blue eyes I will never forget, ever.
It was the age of King Arthur,
Camelot and the magic of Merlin.
Then it goes away and I'm back,
Only remembering someone I use to love.
I dream of her at night only waking,
Up with tears in my eyes knowing,
I have lost her all over again.
Definitely dreading this meeting,
With my boss opening the door I see her,
Like I'm magically thrust back into the past,
Cam, Is it really you ??
She walks up to me like a dream,
She stands in front of me,
Touching my cheek she says yes I'm real,
I have searched centuries for you,
As she kisses me I hold her tight,
Never wanting to let her go,
As I hear my boss say Tell Zeus,
I'm glad I could help.
Yes Percy I certainly will.
Percy Seriously ??
Yes Queen Lauren I was protecting you,
Until they could come back for you,
Until it was safe out of Olympus.
After all King Arthur is your cousin,
He awaits your return.
The kidnappers are in the Brigg.
Queen Cam are you ready to take,
Your beloved back to Olympus.
Yes we're ready.
The kids are dying to see both their mothers.
Come on Lauren let's go home.
Torrents of thoughts torment me
Floodgate of distractions rack my soul
Avalanche of delusions
Decapitate my mental faculty
As I muse over the degeneration
That has dogged my beloved country
She manifests every aspect
Of a failed state
The giant of Africa has lost control
Of her Territory to terrorists
Bandits have re-colonized my fatherland
Kidnappers strike terror into the hearts
Of weary and hapless Nigerians
While her economy continues to
Stumble and wobble with ignominy
In the hands of oil thieves
The ancient perpetrators of
rape
Against our father land
Are shamelessly like vultures
Gathering and flying over
The carcass of the comatose nation
To gang-rape her to death
Arise fellow Nigerians and stand firm
Let us take our country back
From chaos to path of sanity
What I am supposed to do
When everything around me has gone crazy?
What am I supposed to do
When my beloved country
Chooses the path to perdition
Rather than moral rectitude?
What am I supposed to do
When millions of my compatriots happily
Wallow in criminal poverty
While insignificant few parasite on our Commonwealth
As Lords and masters of our
Collective destiny?
What am I supposed to do
When my country men
Cannot sleep with two eyes closed
As terrorists and kidnappers
Have become our eternal nemesis ?
What am I supposed to do
When a new opportunity is
On the horizon
But my compatriots prefer the status quo
Hobnobbing with their slave masters?
What I am supposed to do
When the hope for a new Nigeria
Keeps slipping through our fingers
At every election cycle?
2023 elections are around the corner
Nigerians must get it right this time
I cry and point to the right direction
So that my compatriots can follow
That is what I am supposed to do
Stand up Nigerians
Take back your country!
Believe it or not, their ubiquitous webs
Are everywhere; they are the dictators
Who kidnap, maim, torture and kill teachers,
Poets, ordinary folks and babies in their cribs.
They rob and ransack innocent citizens,
Steal elections and after a lifetime in power,
Categorically refuse to leave the tower.
Very often, they do everything to muzzle the chickens.
Monsters are constantly in disguise,
They are well dressed, they wear uniforms,
They know how to blend and to socialize.
Monsters, at every turn, want to control the dorms,
Manipulate the data, fool the media,
Hire henchmen and spread false propaganda.
Monsters behave like manipulative magicians,
They suck the air out of the innocent bystanders,
Befriend desperate and impoverished musicians,
Surreptitiously inveigle the nosy neighbors
To exteriorize their feelings, and they spy and lie,
At every opportunity; and at every occasion,
They bury their preys alive in the dungeon.
Believe it or not, monsters are like rats,
Their appetite is insatiable; they crawl under the mats,
Bite babies, steal millions, and hide the money in overseas coffers;
They rape young boys and girls, and destroy the future of many.
The revolution was not done right ‘cause the kidnappers,
The pick pockets and their accomplices are still under the tree.
Those raccoons, those bedbugs don't go away easily.
They outlive the exterminators. These goons are really bright.
Be cautious, because they are out there day and night,
Operating at every meeting and at every party.
Believe it or not, all bad things must come to an end:
The lies, the crimes, and the arbitrary executions of the church band.
Copyright© February 2012, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books:
I am a pilgrim of pavements,
a nomad of numbered highways,
forever on transit
transversing trembling states.
Morning moves me,
afternoon absorbs me,
night nurses my nudging wheels.
I fear not the night
that velvet vastness
though it whispers
of wolves in human skin,
bandits blooming in bushes,
kidnappers
clockless, faceless,
forecast by none.
Faith fuels me.
Hope holds the steering of my heart.
O Lagos–Ibadan lords of the wheel,
your vehicles cough like consumptives,
bronchial buses breathing brokenness
a little motion,
a loud lamentation;
a mile of movement,
a meadow of malfunction.
Metallic skeletons stall and sigh,
tyres tired,
engines enraged,
gears groaning grief.
Then blame
brittle as bald tyres
is flung at government,
as though gullies grew by gossip alone.
From Lagos to Ondo State
my journeys jolt into night-crawling
slow serpents sliding
through the spine of the nation.
Yet I do not despair.
For night is cool,
a calm cloak
smooth as mercy,
soft as whispered psalms
save for the sudden
shadows of steel and sin.
Still
I believe.
Roads will rise renewed.
Potholes will perish.
Drivers will drive
not coffins of combustion
but chariots of care.
And this long, looping journey
this endurance of engines and fears
shall become
a testimony:
that transit is trial,
and trial,
triumph
in transit.
“Thousands of desperate migrants die in the desert and at sea, or fall victim to murderers and kidnappers, as they make their way along the ‘eastern corridor’ from Ethiopia to Saudi Arabia” - Fred Harter in Obock, Djibouti
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Ethiopia through Djibouti
to Yemen, to hopeful life
runs Sun's angry route
A glum path to escape poverty
impulsive one-way journey
fear strengthens patience
keepers turned exploiters to smugglers
dump or sell or kill their dreams
new brokers fill hopes
shifting sand promises shift their goals
'Selling hair to purchase a comb'
no turning now, walk
starved, extorted, violated, yet
hearsays goad guileless hearts
burying truth, lies march