Helplessly we clung to the voices of hope
Because that was all we were left with.
Dilapidated houses; a place we once called home.
The sands were dry with shattered bones underneath.
Our animals were gone; we wondered what next to eat.
Resorting to humans gone; I often saw it brought to heat.
A leg, an arm; two, maybe even more.
We restrained till we were stripped off our core.
Emeka gave us hope and zeal to fight,
He said it was just and true; our right.
We fought, we won, and we lost.
Crossing our losses against our wins; each cost.
We were a difficult force to shake off.
We fought with him, for him, and for his
Because we were his paladins made to buff.
It was his country, his people, his creations; his.
Starvation, drought, war, shellings, death;
These were only to mention a few.
We sort a means to safety; a place below the earth,
So we crafted bunkers; created a mew.
Kwashiokor became a familiar epidemic;
Egg yolk, sardine, and salt became our cravings
Looting, rioting, ambushing seemed endemic.
All because of a desire to own our havings.
Brothers, Fathers, nephews and uncles lost to this bout
Sister, Mothers, nieces and aunts raped by ours.
We fought for a vision; a vision to live freely about.
But we died counting seconds, minutes, and hours.
The bald pebble headed creatures became our rival,
Picking at eyes of swollen corpse, nearly in reprisal.
Bodies washed off the sullen soils lain aside
Were ours and theirs to decide.
Pursue the enemies, harass them, destroy the invaders!
Match on now that victory is in sight. Kill the raiders!
Were his words; And when push got to shove, he fled;
Leaving us yielding and clawing as we bled.
The raiders won his war yesterday
But today is ours to pave a way.
Biafra died aspiring to live at last.
It is indeed the death of a future’s past.