It’s hard seeing smiling faces.
These days, one sees –
Pain. Sadness. Anger.
Angst. Sorrow. Hunger.
At night, the sound of loud generators
From I-pass-my-neighbour to Listers,
Fill the air with putrid soot
Without anyone giving a hoot.
These days, people just want to eat
But their daily bread comes at a great feat,
From dozing off on each other in molues,
To getting lost in thoughts in koropes,
Everyone is going somewhere,
And pray to God to get there
For the highways are bandits’ abode
And the winding paths are terrorists’ hoods
The children no longer play on the streets,
For fear of kidnapping by bandits;
The nightlife seems to have faded,
The moonlight stories seems are no longer told
The leaders indulge in revelry,
And think they are safe in their cavalry,
With impunity, they take from the poor;
And with greed, they demand more
With flowing agbadas, they parade themselves
For to do nothing beneficial is their resolve.
O, how the people long for the days of yore,
When the country was at the fore;
When the farmer’s child went to a good school
And the petty trader could afford a 3-square meal
Sadly, we hear of glory days,
But they seem to be at bay.
Who will bring them back, we ask?
For people are weary from dawn to dusk…
(c) Chukwudi I.