Fascinating and magnificent poem, Chronicles of Motherland written by Chisom Ozokolie, a graduate of Psychology from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, Nigeria.
Chronicles of Motherland (Poem)
I live in a bedazzled battlefield existing just on the brink of war.
We wear iron armour’s to work, beneath our clothes,
protection from bomb shrapnel’s
and bullets from our police, all the while
trying to convince kidnappers we are not worth kidnapping.
Our streets are the most fertile
because our leaders believe in fertilizing the earth
with the red liquid manure, our protesters gleefully donated
amidst their own screams of horror.
Our constitution is supreme,
only making exceptions for billionaire thieves and politicians with thirteen-year-old brides.
At poverty alleviation conferences,
our backs are human sofa where our leaders sit on
while their wives take ink from beneath our skin
to paint their nails red.
Blaming the mounting problems on “the lazy youth”
and our obsession with technology.
Our spiritual heads scream from speakers mounted on private jets
asking for our tithes and reminding us of our imminent arrival to hell.
On our way to escape poverty we answer questions like:
Who is your father?
How much do you have?
Will you sleep with me?
Our founding fathers are huddled at the veil separating both worlds
Seeing with empty eye sockets,
Talking from flesh-less heads and tongue-less mouths asking
“will this be our legacy? “
While we are in court trying to call out the names of our tormentors
BUH…, ATI… but we always die before we finish calling out their names.
Written by Chisom Ozokolie
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