Can you quantify the tears of a hundred years
Cries silenced by gagged clothes
Groans muted by pointed guns
Can you forget the blood of a hundred Lords
Crimson liquid shed on the drawn front;
That butchered in the hideout of darkness
Or those silenced by a suspended pendulum
A cursed end of that precious gift
Men became outlaws in their birthplace
Forced to take solace in a strange place
Why?
They chose to be noisemakers
In the class of All-makers!
Men were confined to shanties
Famous not for their damp smell
But for their choking locks
Padlocks?
No
Rocklock!
A lock that shuts beneath the earth
Men were silenced forever
On the bed of worried solace
In the midst of their humble humiliating blankets
And a thousand more
Only God knows-
Had been pushed over the railings
Of river Niger
To take a bath
A quick bath into the world unknown
Can you quantify the tears of a hundred years
The tender wails of a million kids
Begging their hapless dad
For something to appease their pinching bellies
The bottled anger of a frustrated Papa?
Potent in bed
Potent in sinews and muscles
But made impotent on the field
May I force the tip of my pen
To a perfect halt here,
Else this paper
Be soiled with tears
Bloodshot tears
Boiling tears
Of a
Of a
Of a weeping Nigerian!
Written by: Ekundayo Moyo
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
