Here is a poem, a question, a cry for and by the dead and the living:
A hundred and fifty million noses sniffing the air,
Searching for the fragrance that is not there.
They go sniff, sniff; father, mother and the brood,
For they said our Shepherd had Luck, he was Good.
A breath of fresh air we sought, in the dark we groped.
Unlit candles in our calloused hands, we hoped
For the vagrant wind to blow in the fragrance of roses
And sweep away the stench pinching our mucused noses.
We placed our marks beside the faces, our eggs in the basket
And we hoped that they end not in wooden caskets.
We soaked in the gift of the sun with unparched throats
And guarded our painted marks with armored oaths.
Now our noses are twisted like the aged oak in my village.
We have twisted them, first with hope and now with rage.
We smell nothing now for our runny noses are stopped
By the odor of the farts their buttocks have dropped.
We have fallen from the heated pan into raging flames
And our souls have been scared from our hungry frames.
Now, we hear not for our ears are deaf from the thunder
And we flee for we are yet unready for the journey under
Is this the breath of fresh air our noses sought
When we spoke with one voice, daring their wrath?
I smell no fragrance but the aroma of barbecue on fire,
Barbecue of brothers and sisters grilled with their desire.
Just yesterday, another tragedy happened in our dear nation.
At a time when we were hoping for a spell of calm, terrorists struck again, killing at least 49 students at the Senior Science Secondary School in Potiskum, Yobe State.
Innocent lives wasted for no cause.
Painful, but not as painful as the fact that barely 24-hours later, Nigeria’s number one citizen and protector of the murdered students is out at Eagles Square declaring for presidency, again.
I him well as he seeks re-election in this trying time.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.