Papa had something to do
We had no idea whatever it was
“I must do this as I would,”
“I can fight again, just like in those wars.”
The Umunna would be meeting soon
In our compound, this afternoon
Men to talk with red caps and titles
Boys to serve palm wine bought by Titus

There was nothing but noise
Chaos had no other choice
Everyone wanted us to battle Alaudo
All but one, Chief Onyeudo
“We have to dialogue further,” he stated
“We have to use our mortar,” they wanted
No negotiation with terrorists!
No room for pacifists!

And Papa had been silent all along
That should be a sign of being strong
He was to speak last
As he had done in the past
With clattering hands, he struggled to his feet
Coughing ceaselessly, he was given back his seat

He started speaking,
They started listening
So much for senility
So little for sensibility
What a gibber!
What a shiver!

Lo! He said it
What he had to do
Alas! He knew it
What every youth wanted him to do
“I can’t lead you anymore,”
“I need to rest, a final one.”

He had a cold
He took a pill
He was old
And he was ill

PS: Dedicated to African leaders

No thoughts yet on “OLD AND ILL (Poem)” by Chidi Nkwocha (@Skola93)

Leave a Reply