I have heard enough!
From the men in billion-dollar suits,
Professing lamentations over our five-cent existence,
Speaking their grief in “oh dear’s” and “I’m sorry’ s”
While we are left enlightened by darkened worries,
Of the children that watch a burning world through bullet-holed windows,
Of the graveyards growing richer than their quickly flipped checkbooks.
And as the sentient moneybags flaunt Nairas and never raised hands,
The green and white flag knows red as its new brand.

I have seen enough!
Of the perpetuity of winding hour hands,
With no sense of halt to the rhythm of broken hearts,
And the ruin that becomes our crowning dark cloud,
Surging thunders born from thousands of screams.
Turn away our eyes? But they sleep in our dreams,
Turn away our eyes? But hellish days are still lived here.
With our backs growing intimate with falling brick walls,
Wondering if today marks the end of us all.


I have smelt enough!
Of the soot-filled air that usurps the night sky,
Veiling us further in utter madness that makes me cry,
But leaving visible the gifts hell-sent,
The fatigued flesh housing broken bones,
The wailing orphans that know the truth of being alone,
Campfires warming the wasteland,
Where we wish to tell post-tragedy tales,
But these Igwes of Infamy still grip our tails.

I have tasted enough!
Coming to and lying face-first in the trickling blood that gradually governs the sidewalks,
From the beautifully mutilated ones,
Cursed to never know who carried it in their now-dried veins,
And left ravaged by the prickling thoughts, of “what was that?” and “who were they?”
Were they my most trusted friends?
Were they my warm and tender lovers?
Or perhaps my icy-hearted foes?
But what does it matter, because I may never know.
I look to my left, I look to my right,
And gone could be what made the world right.
As the sidewalks are still beautified with deformation,
By the scarring hands of the savages’ imaginations.


I have felt enough!
Of the false hopes that I lay in post-mortem,
Intently carving away till I finally realize,
From top to bottom,
And then sideways,
The depth of their most shallow ways.
Do these men feel love for the homeland they’ve felled?
Do these men care about the truths that we tell?
That they no longer live and learn like us,
That they are no longer “human” like us.
All I feel are the heavy boots that punish the splitting ground,
All I feel is the shiver when I see their rifles loaded with relentless rounds,
We see them no more but the raven-dark alphabets,
That became the nightmare we wished we never met.
Beyond the mountains of ashes morphed from humble homes,
Their requited stares speak malice alone,
Speak the storm they already are,
Speak the raven-dark name “SARS”.