H D Fink
By
Shola Balogun
Nights After Biafra
We thought that
the out-stretched feathers
of our hoisted flag
would warm us
in time of cold.
We thought that
the brazen talons
of our coat of arms
would guide our ballot boxes
from strange dreams
of men who are flair,
not in uncommon feats
in this age of computer,
but only in making gun-powder
and local dane guns
to quell the truce
of polling booths.
The law, as you and I
have come to know,
is a godfather
only to the wise men
who came from the North
and the armoured tanks
could be the dragons
in your cup of tea.
The toast
of our national identity
is when one is given
the grace to retreat
at the point of gun
or fall into bush fire
with the hybrid gods.
Do you notice that
the hangman’s noose
is at times not synonymous
with crimes committed
against humanity but for daring
the spurious bills of the state?
Do you not notice as I do
that while our politicians
are dying of obesity
and the government
dancing on stilts,
cudgels and teargas
could not choke one to death
than the dust that settles
on the case files of those who die
of stray bullets
in a protest march?
This is the law that you
and I have come to know-
The armoured tanks
could be the dragons
In one’s cup of tea
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