Between a father and a son,
In Africa’s most populous nation,
Son:
Father please resolve for me this equation,
For I do not understand how,
Oil, mineral resources, and fifteen million people,
Can equal: hunger, poverty and a dry nipple,
For when I added the bloggers and tweeters,
A million critics on facebook and newspapers,
I still got the same answer,
So I deducted the pastors and imams,
Reverends and bishops,
For their piety ends in bustops,
But still no change,
Hunger, poverty and a dying people,
So I looked down in frustration at the steps,
I’ve followed to this answer,
And they echo the erratic steps of an insane dancer,
So I have brought you this equation,
For there has to be a change to the status quo,
An ebb to this mad flow,
Father:
Well son,
The final solution, is quite the revelation,
I shall tell it with no disclaimer,
So in order for me to be safer,
I suggest you put away the pen and paper,
See,
You have to subtract the bloggers and the tweeters,
For while their words the internet litters,
Back in Aluu when the four were killed,
All they were, were screamers,
You have to deduct the poets and the writers,
Who pen and speak change,
Then go back home to wives and sisters,
Till Eriata arranges the next stage,
For,
How long shall we craft rhymes of woes?
When shall we start selecting our hoes?
Stare blindly in the mirrors,
And not see the correction to our errors,
How long,
Shall we claim the tags of victims,
And not get on with the necessary business of healing?
For,
Our biggest problem is not leadership,
Our biggest problem is followership,
Leadership is second,
Let’s stop this meaningless prayers,
And pry off corrupt layers,
Start looking inward not upward,
Forward not backward,
We are the disease,
We are the cure,
Stand up from that chair of criticism, son,
Stare closely in the mirror without cynicism,
What you see,
Is the change you seek,
Now pick up that pen and paper son,
Make all necessary subtractions,
Take hard work, integrity and honesty as additions,
Add to it, diligence, creativity and dedication,
Now divide your final answer,
By holy, pure, true religion,
What do you see?
Son:
Father,
I see change, yes I see change,
So we have to stop speaking change, and start being change.
ONWUASOANYA CHIKA
Onwuasoanya Chika, is a budding novelist and accomplished poet, his poems have been published in several anthologies including the Oja Oba market, Nigeria, 52 years after and others.
He is the Organizer of the Swords of words spoken word poetry competition in FUTO, Owerri, Imo state and the winner of ‘War of Words’ Season 2.
His works can be found online at WRRPoetry, My Mind Snaps and WordUp411ng blogs and websites.
When he isn’t writing, he reads voraciously.
