Recent happenings in the country took me back to the Abacha years, the same anger, restlessness, hopelessness....I started to read again the poetry I wrote in those dark days...here are two that is as relevant now as then...
For fear of death
We commit suicide
Like the Ostrich
Our heads are in the sand
We are raped
We are chased
Yet we are mute
And everyday we die
When good men shut their mouths
Evil becomes a blabbermouth
It stands on the rooftop
And screams ownership
Of a house he did not build
Good has gone into hiding
Afraid to come out
From its burrow
To face the warships of evil
Evil walks the streets
Unmolested
Unafraid
For he knows
Good men have gone to sleep
Heritage Song
If I were to sing the song of my country
My song will be in tears
Tears of blood
In sympathy for the children of my country
My country people say
We only know dirge
We used to sing afrojuju
But now it is all dirge
We used to love to dance
Now our feet are heavy
Iron two left feet
And how we used to dance
Then they used to envy us
And came from afar to watch us
Now they come to scorn
And to mourn with us
Some say it is a curse
Punishment for what our fathers did
But who would curse us?
Who dares swear at us?
We together must break this curse
So we can sing again
Our heritage song
And our feet vibrate in harmony
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