By Francis Oleghe
Lamentation
From the bottom of the pyramid,
They take a detour, and Mother descends into the pit–
Let’s combat neo-slavery, lies and clannishness,
And restore forefathers’ dreams and mother’s dignity.
Into foreign lands they conceal their gains;
Stunned, they wonder why mother has become wretched.
Mother travailed yet in her pit, rearing a new generation,
Who, groping like the blind in the midst of abundant light,
Progenies, unaware of mother’s plight;
Mother, who once led by good shepherds,
Now deserted and left in the pit.
Led by own children from the rear:
Mockers, leading mother into penury pit,
They bartered and wrangled for themselves on the way!
Arise anon, nobles, true lovers of mother,
To mother’s aid and her countless helpless offspring,
Beam your searchlight into that penury pit;
Pulpit workers, pull mother out!
Poet’s Explanation: I believe that in every society, and across all generations, there are good people who can offer great leadership. Albeit, society may reject the services of these genuine leaders and go after “mockers,” yet, good men should arise! There is a clarion call to save the nation from the pit she has been led into by her own indigenous leaders, to save those born at the time she had been plunged into the pit. We must revert to the dreams of our nationalists whose intentions do not seem clear, but whose professed ideals could be used to chart a new and better course for the nation in distress.
Yesterday
The other two were made to stand,
When we sat in the room too strait –
Sleeping hours always brought complexity.
When all but one submitted to sleep,
The proposals of the day were sure to be deferred.
So went the circle at night’s birth:
The last man standing was allured to submit
And found himself at dawn unprepared –
The work of yesterday rolled into today.
Africa: awaiting a new era
Foretime, colonialism entered Africa with its tat,
Then came the sons; children of the soil:
Agitators turned impenitent apostates,
Their promises bereaved of manifestations –
They plundered Africa, our common destiny…
Our rich heritage divided amongst the mighty,
And in their hamlets our people still remained:
Then emerge a new dawn of segregation and neo-slavery.
The cold harmattan had blown mischievously,
Bringing the stranger into our rustic habitat
His olive leaf too African to reject,
Caucasian hands adjudged pure, alas full of trickery
Our fathers embraced the stranger’s ways,
His tutelage Eve-like at the serpent’s urging opened our eyes
The black man soon shivered as one bestirred,
Holding freshly plucked olive leaf in his right hand.
His progenies sent overseas more to learn;
They returned armed to recover their ancestral land,
But shocked to see in black and white,
Fathers signed away all they had:
Cattle, cocoa, timber, and precious stones; nuts, oil and gas…
Alien prisons anon sprung up in the Colony
To house agitators adjudged offenders by imperialists once angels
Until the stranger adapted and offered independence willy-nilly.
Tears for Africa
What ail Africa now are not Caucasian lords,
Though they gone leaving things in place to be out of place,
What ail Africa now are her own offspring.
Created fertile but made barren by your own sons.
Africa, the yet unpolished land of mine,
They rob you to strengthen aliens’ arms;
They array you with beggar’s attire;
In Africa where sons of the soil now reign;
In their kingly apparel they lead you with cup in hand.
Let the heralds of the new era swiftly come,
For the night runs fast to edge out your age…
Departure of Benignity
with daylight came the segregation…
and the moon came tiredly…
making Africa sleep on bed of hearth…
They saw love go with the night…
Night fell scornfully on the earth,
The earth quaked and grumbled…
as benignity departed and the people trembled.
The sun left hurriedly,
Elections in Africa
Until no yam is left for their offspring,
And like foxes set on fire destroy their shelter.
The earth is tired of drinking blood of innocent folks:
Heaviest step on the dead to take the Oath –
These oath swearers rob their mother;
Fathers eat all the yams like greedy gluttons,
From barns used to overgrowing;
She is tired of welcoming youthful faces, uninvited.
Oath devoid of allegiance and manifestoes
Ever and anon to enrich a richer-than-her;
The prodigal fathers have emptied the harvest.
The living is bone-hurt, seeking vengeance
And our progenitors are denied of their labours.
The mandate-robbers have forgotten the house
For their mortal loss of souls in their prime:
Young men killed by ballots-turned-bullets.
As Africa suffers from flow of blood,
Why all this killing?
Poems from the stable of shepherd and lawyer, Francis Oleghe (PhD).
*Girls Are Not To Blame will continue next week*
