NAIJA BLOG

You stare at the fallen   in unspeakable grief, and recall   the first steps, the tiny hug, the baby smell   all the little details a mother knows,   beneath the Terebinth tree.   Oh Rizpah, the pleasure of all eyes   the delight of Saul in his prime   what have you become?   Fighting birds of prey and jackals as they stalk the decaying   flesh of your flesh...   Amoni was the quiet one,   Mephibosheth the witty one, who laughed even in sadness   Here they lay eyes agape in unspeakable horror, hung like thieves.   Saul would gather them in the small of his arms,   and they, beauties to behold would giggle in delight   Rizpah, your existence is that of demented reality and excruciating dream in the middle of insanity   The Jackals have come again, aiming to savour the carcasses of your decaying sons,   You  stand weakened by hunger and sorrow, and shoo them away again.   God of Israel, take thi...

 Oh you pale skinned, thin lipped one With the covetous eyes Century after century you stride  Across nations leaving trails of blood and gore  The Congolese paid for your visit with the fractured arms of men, women and children, Africans visited your abode like cattle, sold of and branded  You took off one mask and wore another  Self proclaimed superior  who survived from the teat of Africa and the backs of her children You led and segregated  Stole the lands and looked down  your noses as Africa broke and grew, grew and died, died and knew, knew and now fight, You steely eyed thieves, dripping with lies,  Providing the guns and bullets to brothers who fight and die for you the ghoul to steal their carcasses. Your visit is the visit of the dead

How many words have been shouted, how many voices have spoken? How many have whispered and disappeared into the nothingness of life, and the abyss of death The sounds of the living and long gone, we exist in temporariness, forgotten?  Existing only in captured memories.  How many have cried and have slept engulfed in bitterness that mean nothing. We are shadows who ebb into the light and darkness.

 How could I loathe what sustains me and how could what sustains me, destroy me every thought at a time, every minute of the day the labour is not hard very easy it is the wanderers, who have made the vortex their God and destroy all whom fall upon their covetous eyes the vortex of hell is full of slanderers, the lazy, and backbiters the opportunists, the bitter and evil. The gossip and envious, all who cannot bear to see the pure... you have to die to live in this vortex of nothingness 

 You pushed her away when her hands were tiny and wanted to cup your face, when her eyes sought answers and love within your eyes. you pushed her away when she needed the hugs that would shield her from the fearsome world and  laughing peers  she sought your hands to hold her and tell her all was well, you were never found you told her her younger ones were prettier and better, so she became anxious and sought solace in peers and moved rootlessly, like a nomadic fulani during the rainy season.  She never knew your hugs, just your beatings she never saw you smile, just your mockery she sought for mothers in strangers and fathers in lovers but they all failed she fought to live and won and now you want to hug her and she recoils  now you want to talk and she shuts herself from you now you want the woman after killing the girl She will always be the little lost girl, all alone, trying to find her way in the scary world

In these depths of despair amidst the sadness of the soul I reach into my bank of pain and shudder at the calamity and the sadness these sorrow never cease they evolve into mutant despair worse than its original, less than its post-mutated version I can't help myself no one can. With no hope I disappear into a world of noise that fill me up and lets me live in the silence of my thoughts My bank of pain is full

 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