Seeing the future:
Here I sat on my distressed window,
I watched the birds weep in pattern
The breeze ceased and the oceans cried,
Then I saw a lady; a black lady without
skirt on her rumpled waist sorrowfully;
walking along the hard core road pained.
She made a headline of a failed country,
Her children are no more walls but apart
They are when their mother’s oil fell.
Gullible bullets at her creeks wracking,
I saw her without makeup on her face.
She looked horrible and agonized,
more unkempt than all other countries,
she was divided from the east and south
while the north of her body was confused
she became hashtags falling apart when
her children have turned into grieving
a room of bizzare anguish of a lost mother,
She has no mouth to gather them together.
Who is to blame of her misery down town?
Riffles emptied themselves all over her body,
Bomb shot here and there in her surroundings.
“She is gone! She is divided!” Many screamed.
“Let us go to our own land! Let us go now”
I saw a divided country where all the cows
where kept in the north hills, the sheep were
guided to the eastern part to have their home,
the south, the west; in a separate mission.
I saw a woman crowded with shame,
Every part of her body trying to break out;
I saw a woman, a distressed woman
Whose mouth had been made as a gutter and
Every man can ejaculate into her mouth.
I saw the Biafrans broke out with the NDs,
Whilst the Oduduwa’s stood watching the cows.
If the sentence of my eyes breaks away,
hold the bleeding combat of its desperation.
I have seen a woman; a broken woman there
whose fault is from the dark pretty stars.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice of Vincent 2016