My Songless Song

My Songless Song

NIGERIA IS 57. IT WILL BE BAD OF US TO NEGLECT THE FACT THAT WE ARE STILL ON THE ROAD. THAT’S WHY I’VE DECIDED TO POUR OUT MY MIND THROUGH THIS POEM

MY SONGLESS SONG

Conjoined.

Cultivated.

Fertilized.

Fruitless.

The soil in my womb,
Have refused to grow lilies.

Listen to my songless song.

Fertility and barrenness,
Have tussled to abide with me
In my rich homelessness.
The imprudence that dwells in me
Disallowed my attention on them.

Weeds browbeat my infant crops,
Curtailing them from obtaining nutrients
From a wealthy and liberal soil,
Which I’ve been blessed with in my womb.

Sweet herbs have been made bitter!
The milk and honey that flowed unceasingly,
Have been infected with the bitterness
From the spoilt stomach of these herbs.

Selfish tall trees covering my flowers.
Preventing them from being touched
By the hands of the cheerful sunlight.
My flowers pay these tall trees with
Many withered parts of them,
So as to get sunlight from them.

My plants are angry, aren’t they?
Yes they are!
Morning dues have refused to fall on them
Because they’ve refused to rise to it.

I asked inexperienced gardeners
To monitor my greener garden
So that it will become greener pastures
For patrons of my crops.

They turned all my hard work
Against myself and my plants.
I’ve experienced lots of experiences.
What’s more good to them
Than generational wars
And perpetual struggle for survival?

The battle ground- Wet!
Wet with sweats from their hearts.
Waters are running from the soils
In their sick deserted ridges.

Today, 1 woman has join me and us-
She has joined my family of 56,
Dragging us to a total of 57.
But I have nothing to show
As my property, apart from my old roofless home.
I have nothing to offer apart from my old helpless family.

The arrival of this innocent woman:
What it will bring, I know not.
Will her arrival bring me good tidings?
Will her arrival shake my family
And my garden from our slumber?

I envy my neighbors
Whenever I see them welcoming
New parts of them with their bountiful harvests.

By their fruits,
You shall know them.
But by my fruits,
I’ve been known for the unknown.

Here I am. I’m seeing things.
Things that are eating me up.
Concord tied to a fallen tree,
Watching without an eye.
Can Charity save me and
My children from the hands of horror?

The soil in my womb,
Have refused to grow lilies.

Listen to my songless song.

©MAYOR JAKE✍
Facebook: @mayorjakewrites
Instagram: @mayor_jake_write
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