NAIJA BLOG

 The revealer, arbiter, leveler of time you fall heavily, softly, slowly, you fall on us all we are all allotted portions of your rare gifts,  careful portions, spaces that seem to spawn and seem so small we crawl and walk, some do not and fade we walk and talk , but that portion is denied to orders we talk and comprehend, while others fly into the abyss of the void we know, grow and blossom, beautiful and strong, we think and worry  we worry and accept the fates, some broken, some fiery, some weary and jaded we see the signs of the passing days, on our faces, on our hair, in the eyes of children, who start the same circle, we wait and rest, our weary bones, tired legs and long for days of the past. our deaths are the comeuppance of living, we spent out time 

 I immortalize you , using this divine gift to solidify your names Ada, my voice was lost in the wilderness of despair, when I welcomed you, you were defiant, a fighter,  who fought to stay, fought to be heard, your defiance made me strong and pushed me from my despair quick to anger, quick to love Ada, I am lost in you, your spirit, and your eyes,  you fight for your place, brave and unafraid I am not afraid of your survival in a world of treachery, you were born of this world, to twist it and turn it, till it bent for you. Your path may be hard, but you are harder, you lead the pack, you will make them cry, you will be the head of the gang, fierce, determined, and strong,  you know already how the world works, you cry at will and fight for peace. Ada, my warrior princess, daughter of wealth, may wealth find you, in body and soul Chinedu My firstborn child, Born in the bliss of false hope,  you taught me that love was unconditional,  your eyes smile, your ...

 Her eyes are the dark pools of forever they are paradise and beauty and make you sink and lose yourself in their promise you are  helpless, you want to be you could pull yourself from the depth of their wealth and wonder if you would find the gold buried at the end of the promise, you the eternal adventurer  were born to seek, born to find eternity in everything  they give you life and are incomparable to the anxious eyes that meet you trustingly, longingly when you return eyes that know without knowing, eyes that cry without crying, eyes that know the time is coming to be hopeless, eyes that find her answers in  the innocence of her seed,  eyes that have died waiting for you to revive them you despise those eyes, dry and weary,  the hand that rubs the forehead in despair,  you break and break the feeble soul enamored with your words,  deadly words, poisonous words  yet they find some antidote in the poison, sighing in relief because it...

Will the street flow with blood today in response to the annual Shite's March, to add to mounds of dead, that feed the ground , planted in death.   We become dehumanized by death we  will all die one day we say, as we watch the horrors with tired eyelids, Institutionalised.   Our leaders sit on the blood-drenched gilded throne guarded by murderers and afraid of their crimes of their eyes of the children that wander aimlessly on the streets.   The throne protects them from their crimes of greed, death of theft,  they rule corpulent, plotting and  scheming, to save themselves from death and pain, death and pain will come to them not swiftly  but surely.   Fresh piles are dug for the pregnant woman ripped to death, her fetus taken the young child butchered the farmer killed they die, we watch suspended in fear, lobotomized in terror.   While the enforcers of the bloodbath come to us in white dripping slurry speeches tinged with discord and divis...

 Our Robespierre, Our Machiavelli  your power-lust soul reeks,  like the mass-dug graves  likes hands freshly drenched in pedicide genocide and homicide,  the trail of blood leaves an invisible stain  on your immaculate white babarigas unseen by all, seen by all oh tiny tyrant, whom Fate has seemingly nurtured for such a time as this,  what will be your end, you despicable one? will you die a pauper like Machiavelli,  become a crippled invalid like the loathsome Sergent Rogers, who was dreaded by all at a time now beaten by life, a shell of his fearsome self,  or will your tiny neck, out of which sprung millions of untruths grace the guillotine, like Robespierre, the  public accuser,  amidst the ecstatic joy of the murderous mob? Or will fate look the other way and reward your bloodthirsty avarice-filled years filled with gilded rot? Only time will tell

 The Circle gets smaller, The days grow shorter Once again one is gone, Gone away forever  leaving in wake the surprise and the memory forever etched in the  recess of our minds Death always takes us away unprepared. Dad, Chibuzor, Adah,Attah, Vicki, Ekwuolobia,Benjamin, Clemment, Samson The ones we cannot forget, Kebbi, Ieulogize you, hardworking Kebbi, murdered and butchered what did you think about in the throes of death,  you died struggling, you died hustling, you still haunt the car parks of Miatama,  There are the ones we feel deserve it and say a prayer for forgiveness for we mourn them not, as their actions continue o hurt us long after they have gone. Our nights get shorter, our days grow wearier Death stalks us all.

  You live unhindered and uninhibited, determined to take a sip of every poisoned chalice? determined to experience every debased passion.   It’s a slippery slope to death by self, death by inhibition.   Your eyes are glazed with opiates, body destroyed by encounters, soul is haunted by unsatisfied desires,  a glutton for endless passion, unending desires. You are on the highway to death, going 200 per hour, and cannot stop.