The last person that broke my heart was
Later pronounced dead on arrival. Ah!
Relax. Relax na cruise.
But just like you, fellow countryman, I only badly
Need a brief recess, a mind’s sky clouded by the
Thick veil of nostalgia, from the constant strokes
Of steel our country is heavily lashing like bars
On the epithelia of my fragile black skin. Dread not,
Come along fellow countryman, I can’t even hurt a fly.
Who knows, you might stumble upon
A colony of pristine bliss, if you choose to walk with me
Through the verdant prairie the lush verses of this poem
Are trying to conceive through their metaphorical cervixes.
Come on, keep coming along, don’t falter, thank you for the leap
Of faith, just please, kindly spore me another favour before taking
Another giant stride on this road of bliss-hunting, try estranging
On the board of your memories for a minute that naira is still a footstool
At the oppressive feet of American dollar, that in one of those seaside-cold
October nights just 3 years ago, your country became famished, so she pranced
& feasted like an evil wolf on her citizens. You’ve done that, right? I’m so sorry
For making you revisit hell again & again, but the ritual of this particular happiness
I’m trying to induct you into demands we make peace with our demons,
However temporary. Now you can advance towards me: the sun yielding
The sonorous gale of dawn on quick luminous feet. Believe me when I tell
You, what you seek is never far fetched, like the map to the coarse back
Of your black hands, it’s either all this while you’ve been gagging your sight
Or in your perusal lurks a speck of doubt. Coming this far with me to imprint
The hunter-cheek of this crossroad without grunting, only means there’s still a faint spark
Of hope in your stormy soul begging to be flamed. And for your godlike perseverance, you shall
Be recompensed with the rare energy of spring. Now I summon the frightful birds of your soul,
To break free the gloomy cage of servitude, the sky is your calling, dread not the thunder and lightning
On the road of your calling, they are not dooms, but just two little elysiums lurking behind furious masks.
So Please, as you descend, with me, the ultimate rung of this poem, go into the world a happy soul.