by DavidBokolo
I am not a poet, but I will compose one for my people!


Tears are not the sign of sorrow.
How then can I express my sorrow?
Torn asunder once peaceful people,
Now disjointed by horrors of politics.
What legacy for generations unborn?

The pains and horrors of tales told.
To a generation that does not experience such,
were like tales told as folklore.
Starry eyes stare out from gloomy apertures,
Afraid to dare what terror looms.

My people are torn apart.
My brothers are torn asunder.
By a force unknown in our recluse;
Hatred and suspicious now pervade
In every speech and gesture made.

Where are the social gatherings?
Where are the fun times of my people?
Where the willows we gathered to play?
They are all faint memories of fading dreams.
Only told in whispering tones

The culture of my people has turned a curse.
Every action now ends in a hostile reaction.
Controlled by forces unknown in ages gone by.
What stories do we tell our children?
Where are the elders to tell the stories?

Politics has turned my people against each other.
Politics has made my people forgot each other.
Brothers do not know the worth of brothers.
Brothers have lost the worth of brothers.
Our binding cord has been severed to please an unknown creed.

Though, no tears could atone for my pain,
Yet I weep for the homes dispersed
What can speak the language of Love?
To a people so greatly disdained?
Where life has lost its essence.

We are one great people
We are our brothers’ sons.
We are one proud people.
We are the people of the Niger Delta.
We are the sons and daughters of Nigeria.

Do not be cowed and subdued.
Do not lose your identity.
Together in one; we will stand
If we fall, we will stand again.
Stretch your hand across the divide and say NUAH!
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