Poetry

April 4, 2019 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

IFRC photo

 

By

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha

 

 

 

Spare Africa

 

 

They sell us for gold

So we are on hold,

They exchange us for oil

So we are the soil,

They traffic us for sex

We are the climax,

Spare us, Oh cyclone.

 

We are the laboratory

Our organs are rare,

It is mandatory

Because we are bare,

They buy us for labour

Because we are strong,

Please spare Africa, hurricane.

 

Our skulls are in museums

And our skeletons in galleries

Our heritage is pain

And their inheritance, gain

Spare Africa, oh disaster.

 

Leaders, lead themselves

Followers, follow one another,

Politicians, pound

Religionists, reprimand

Academicians, abolish

The society is in disarray,

Please you have to spare Africa.

 

Hunger thrives, thirst survives

Starvation learns, humiliation yearns

Exploitation sustains, violation maintains

Lack, want, need, poverty, all boom

Hope fasts, faith waits

Cyclone, cyclone, if you have sense,

You would spare Africa.

 

Choices are lean, options are same

Alternatives linger, compromise is deadly

Songs come from wrong gong

Cries, from angelic voices

Rhythms, harp against future

Melodies lambastes harmonies

Cyclone, you don’t have to torture Africa.

 

Well of blood, blood in wells

Oil boiling, boiling oil

Minerals for funerals

Funerals for minerals

Sacrifices against talents,

Rituals fighting gifts

Spare Africa, whatever cyclone.

 

If you have eyes

You will see the African cyclones

Cyclone birth, cyclone survival

Cyclone school, cyclone job

Cyclone living, cyclone growth

Cyclone life, cyclone death

Enough of the cyclones,

Spare Africa, spare Africa.

 

No interest, no eagerness

No passion, no patriotism

No selflessness, no service

No love, no nationalism

No knowledge, no oneness

No values, moral decadence

No steadfastness, no peace

War, war, and violence

Abuse, abuse, and misuse

Looting, looting and loots

Corruption, hate, bigotry

Backwardness, unemployment

Greed, chameleonism

Dirtiness, ungodliness

Africa already has enough cyclones.

 

If you have sense, spare Africa

If you had sense, you would spare Africa

If you have no sense, still spare Africa

Listen, cyclone, cyclone, Africa must be spared!

 

 

 

 

 

The Guts Must Be Crazy

 

 

There he lies, bleeding

Gasping for air, rolling

Unconscious, far from reality

But there you are, recording

The guts must be crazy.

 

A dream struggling to survive

Vibrating speedily

Fighting to win

But there you are, videoing

Helping fate to conquer,

A conspiracy of silence

The guts must be crazy.

 

Riches left scattered

Wealth home and abroad

But here lies he accidentally

Head bruised, jaw broken

Fractured legs, internal wounds

Yet, you are standing

Taking photographs, making fun

Forgetting that the rich also cry.

 

The other is over there naked

Stripped, to take a walk of shame

Flogged, stoned, dehumanized

You were so cool with the scene

Because things have fallen apart.

 

Look over there, the poor is hungry

He is begging for alms

But your camera rolls

Because you have the audacity of hope.

 

About the starving girl

Hawking on the streets

Your quest is her skirt

So you filmed your conquest

And for her, since then

Things were no longer at ease.

 

The old woman standing in the bus

Old, haggard and worn out

Pale, sick and lean

You pulled a stunt

And have it stored,

Because the dreams of our father died,

The guts must be crazy.

 

Doing drugs, thuggery

Ganging, hanging

Stealing, defrauding

Abusing, polluting

Yet recording, videoing, storing, sharing

Because the society is becoming,

The guts must be crazy.

 

You could help dying victims

But no more conscience

Emergency patients, needing care

Yes, you can save them

I mean no one but you,

The guts must be crazy.

 

People fight and strip themselves

People gather to strip someone,

They burn, kill and murder

Even innocent people fall victims

But you will be there

Snapping, photographing, posting

Because you want to unleash the arrow of god,

The guts must be crazy.

 

Dead bodies, corpses, burning humans

Ugly sights, ungodly acts

Barbaric beliefs, jungle Justice

You laud them with silence

And aid all with pictures and videos,

The guts must be crazy.

 

WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram, blogs

Newspapers, all the media

Instead of socializing

We debase humanity

And commonize the sanctity of life

Because we need a long walk to freedom,

The guts must be crazy.

 

How we lost it, I do not know

That accident victims would be lying helplessly

While we take photos of their helplessness,

Secrets, sacred and consecrated matters make headlines

Because our values are gone and eroded our norms

No wonder, the nightfall in Soweto.

 

Drop the phone, close the camera

Help victims, save lives

Life is a journey

What goes around, comes around

Even half of a yellow sun.

 

A purple hibiscus

Can light the twelfth night,

The concubine

Can save the mistress

Stay awake at the watchtower

Because there was a country,

The guts must be crazy.

 

Cry, the beloved country

The gods must be crazy

Because no retreat, no surrender

So think and grow rich,

The guts must be crazy.

 

The guts of insane men

And the gods of weird women

All, push my pen

In this crazy world.

 

We are humans not animals

Accident victims are not sightseeing

Let us not make them movies,

Save, rescue, help

Anybody can be a victim.

 

The gods must be crazy

When we are no longer at ease.

 

When we are no longer at ease

The guts must be crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

Mobocracy

 

 

Hardened and gullible crew

Not far from the madding crowd

Suppressing the calm voice of few

Roaring, moaning and roaring aloud

Beating, destroying, crashing and crushing,

Mobocracy, a tent of lions.

 

Haters bringing clubs

Foes leading crossroads

Crucifiers positioning the gallows

Rivals lighting the match.

Mobocracy, a voice of chaos.

 

Envy punching, pinching, lynching

Gossipers in spirit of worship

Singing and praising their news

Lifting frequencies and high notes

Orchestral display of passion by busybodies,

Mobocracy, a killer of Justice.

 

Jungle justice, a pedal of urge

Rigmarole of rhemas unseen

Blunt excess of inhumanity

Mobocracy, mobsters and monsters.

 

Lies feeding dubious hearts

Rumours greeting curious souls

Scandals chasing zealous prayers

Slanders waking dreaming giants,

Tales entertaining wishful thinkers

Jungle justice, a hole on the sole.

 

Shameless statues, pounding

Fearless jokers, enterprising

Ungodly idealists, razing, grazing,

Untidy cycle, harsh like hurricane

Windy slopes, topless mountains

Fighting wrongly, untimely, unjustly

Mobocracy, a tool against the people.

 

Truth with no glimpse

Hope without glance

Faith under curse

Love dead and gone

Hate, cherished

Division planted, watered, fertilized

Jungle Justice, a people so bound in chains.

 

Innocence, doubty and faulty

Courage, dizzy and lazy

Trembling, tiny, helpless, gutless

Ashamed, afraid, vulnerable

Jungle justice, a yoke on the ox’s neck.

 

Mobocracy, hurtful and lamentable

A smoke from intolerance

A path against the poor

Jungle justice, a hungry demon.

 

False witnesses, many a time

False allegations, possibly

Wrong accusations, likely

Hidden intentions, ulterior motives

Dirty deals gone dirtier

Man’s inhumanity to man

Wickedness in the highest places

Bitterness raining coals

Adventurous skeletons organizing crimes

Leaving the root, route, cause, curse.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Sex

 

 

Dear sex

You are a god

And a creator,

You make and mar.

 

Dear sex

You are a deity

And a shrine,

You bless and curse.

 

Dear sex

You are a calling

And a vocation,

You pay and borrow.

 

Dear sex

You are a pleasure

And a leisure,

You kill and save.

 

Dear sex

You are a necessity

And a choice,

You tempt and lure.

 

Dear sex

You are an alternative

You satisfy and compel,

You push and crush.

 

Dear sex

You are a need

And a craving,

You force and rape.

 

Dear sex

You are a dog

And a pig,

You bite and dirty.

 

Dear sex

You are a chameleon

And a dragon,

You change and burn.

 

Dear sex

You are a hunter

And a killer,

You shoot and waste.

 

Dear sex

You are a rapist

And an opportunist,

You overpower and overwhelm.

 

Dear sex

You are a disaster

And a mischief,

You devastate and ruin.

 

Dear sex

You are a joker

And a choker,

You trap and suffocate.

 

Dear sex

You are a beast

And a lion,

You tear and shatter.

 

Dear sex

You are a magnet

And a diamond,

You attract and blind.

 

Dear sex

You are a ruler

And a leader,

You order and mislead.

 

Dear sex

You are a government

And a panel,

You quash and manoeuvre.

 

Dear sex

You are a terror

And a horror,

You capture and detain.

 

Dear sex

You are a grave

And a cemetery,

You bury and cement.

 

Dear sex

You are a myth

And a superstition,

You influence and decide.

 

Dear sex

You are a coven

And a skeleton,

You meander and manipulate.

 

Dear sex

You are a ditch

And a witch,

You halt and hurt.

 

Dear sex

You are a peg

And a spell,

You castigate and rubbish.

 

Dear sex

You are a mountain

And a fountain,

You exhaust and tire.

 

Dear sex

You are a green snake

On a green grass,

Deceitful and blindfolding.

 

Dear sex

You are gallows

And Golgotha,

You behead and murder.

 

Dear sex

You are terminal

And sickening,

You possess and destroy.

 

Dear sex

You are a coward

And a fool,

You misbehave and malpractice.

 

Dear sex

You have turned ungodly

And made yourself a lord,

You have become an army

Going on rampage,

Killing, looting, and scattering homes.

 

Dear sex

From where did you get such power, this quest, so greatly devastating, appalling, alarming, disuniting, disorienting, dismembering and incapacitating?

 

 

 

 

 

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha is a Nigerian graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. She has published over one hundred poems in over ten countries. Her two longest poems of 355 and 560 verses are available on amazon, THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN and LETTER TO MY UNBORN respectively. She is a passionate African ink.

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