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Ugochukwu Okafor Poem
It all started so well-life that is, under the cloudy rainy skies, under the clear blue skies.
The masters had gone-hope bekoned-now we could do it ourselves, so we taught; we, the
renaissance generation.
But alas, we tried too much, too soon. And before we knew it, the skies had turned crimsom red-
red from the blood of the fallen that the earth had taken.
We also lost our innonence because we taught we were ready and could do it better.
Realised we were not. But really the wasted generation? No, was the answer.
Or the lost generation? No, again. Maybe, the wasteful generation.
Copyright © Ugochukwu Okafor | Year Posted 2010
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Details |
Ugochukwu Okafor Poem
What happened to all the young men?
And the young women too? Those ones get married.
But where have all the young men gone?
Have you not heard, have you not seen?
There is a war in the land.
Which war without the sound of guns, you might ask?
Economic war- the young men are economic warriors, fighting in far off lands; that is what most
have become.
I know, but where are our brightest and best?
Funny question- in wars you lose your best men first.
So, would they ever come back or are they the lost generation?
Copyright © Ugochukwu Okafor | Year Posted 2010
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