When Hope is a Living Corpse

You see, each time I’m asked how
noble I can stand Nigeria & claim its citizenry
elsewhere, there is always a rift on my tongue
& every expression is & remains a frag
At times, I just do not feel anything —
I am still learning the music my country sings,
I danced before listening
// you are a relic under pressure. & you know //

but you know, age is a façade. at 5, you know people eat people,
Death. What you people wait for & call natural visits us
like a market day. We do not wait for it
It’s an event that comes, & some, I know,
pray for death. They pierce their skin and watch it bleed …
But we don’t call deaths premature. death is death:
A boy lying with his mouth open as if to say please
& a girl left on a slab as if to say father
Abraham proceeded the ritual without a lamb.
It all happens in my country.
My brother graduated with a top class but he’s incomplete,
My father says there are uncompleted projects in my country
most obvious are the youths & the graduates
who still somehow, manage to school
when they render it shitty in my country;
To mean that education is a garbage in the bin.
But we talk about being safe & my father says
there is a dungeon everywhere you go
Everywhere leads you to the lane in Nigeria,
but I still wear my green face in the morning,
I wear it again at night
& tell to God in the sanctuary, my case is different.
As if it is not same Nigeria, as if it is not same people
As if I am not a common man
that writes about being Nigerian in its failures.

About The Author

Akinwale Peace Akindayo resides in the Northern Central part of Nigeria. His writing seeks to portray love, loss, people (the boy) and other themes that intrigues him. His poetry is still seeking home in journals & magazines while some has been published in online literature blogs. He was rated top 50 Nigerian poets, EGC 2018 ranking, alongside other nominations on BNMagazine. He tweets via Peace_Akinwale.

We're legion

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