So now you call me names
And reckon me among the lame,
That our people cannot tame?
So now you say I am bad,
Like that young uncelebrated lad
Hawking wares on the streets of Lag
Did you not once call me brother?
And say I was better than the other
Why do you now these words utter?
Must these many years be lost
Which we earned at such cost?
Just that we may please our lust?
Come let us make us an alter
Where nothing else matters,
But the peace of each other.
There let us reminisce
Of those good times missed
And I shall yet, hug you with a kiss!
meet the poet: Jonathan Ezeanochie
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.