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Victor Alobari Poem
The release of the naked sword of marine oil spills
From the window and door of offshore platforms drilling rigs,
From the arena of natural oil sips to execute our living meals.
Petroleum hydrocarbon spreading its tentacle to the coastal shores,
Crops behold their departures
And sudden death is sure.
Painful is oil torture,
Holding to ransom our farming culture,
As it takes away the grace of stomach infrastructure.
Spirit of anti-life on our land and sea,
Angels of aquatic are blind to see,
Source of survival it came to seal
Oil Spill is inherent with destructive zeal,
Our broken heart protest as appeal,
Oil spill doesn’t care how we feel
Seawater reacting with petroleum hydrocarbon
A balance equation of hunger is born,
Switch of mass starvation is turned on, aquatics we mourn
Oil spill apprehending the spirit of tourism,
Coastal water a deadly masquerade before tourists and citizen,
Drinking water is imprisoned
Aquatics take killing lessons,
Health awaits death tribunal for no reason
Leadership is frozen.
We are slaves to spill, in our land,
Justice we seek but death we found,
Our cry remains a melody as our tears touch the ground
Crude creeps through, cassava and cocoyam,
Death whistleblowing in our farms,
Ogoni land; the sacrificial land
Stumble out of pipelines, wells, and vessel;
Smoking marine ecosystem; no more hustle
Cry of hunger; death we wrestle
On the shore, our feet are lubricated
The waves on the sea no longer smile at beaches for it is polluted
I dream of cleaning up; my hope is not dehydrated.
Before this monarch of marine our hustle sink
Backslide to poverty and close all links
Fate is fate hope shrinks
King of the sea; the bloody liquid shark
Aquatic you blindly attack
At the mention of thy name aquaculture disembark
Thy territory is beyond marine
How great is thy destruction as you pierce our farmers with pin
Oil spill the liquid shark is within
Nets are thirsty; hooks without bate,
Paddies are sleeping; boats at relaxation state,
No more rafting; no sailing mate.
The prawns turn sculpture; instead of a meal,
Craps and fishes go cold for real
Season of tears; seafood on sleeping pills
Rivers of oil; no water to swim
Water pots are empty; we only drink in our dream
The oil spill effect is worse than it seems.
I wept like Jesus for the ignorance of my brothers,
Environmental degradation fought by our fathers,
Is gladly rebirth by their seeds I ponder
Copyright © Victor Alobari | Year Posted 2021
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