Theatre Of Suspense
We the Nigerian people,
Having being turned into an audience,
In this smoke screen of a theatre,
Where dreams hardly come through.
And as hunger deals a deadly blow,
Even to the last man on the street,
Who was promised abundance,
Now abandoned in hunger,
In a nation ravaged by recession,
A word that affects even the suckling,
For the breast milk of the hungry mother is dry,
And the price of milk has sky-ed.
Now like babies,
Are we treated in this theatre,
After we were tricked of our ticket,
A ticket we stood in the sun,
And under the rain to give them.
The old and the young,
The poor and the destitute,
Who were promised food and shelter,
No wonder they came ALL-out,
And in unison they said no to Transformation,
And Yes to a Change,
That is today seen as a chain.
In this theatre of suspense,
Where even the crippled,
Get beaten by men with iron fist,
For the offense of wearing a cloth,
A cloth they claim where theirs alone,
Even the D and the double S,
Treat us like men without dignity,
But what shall we say?
When they could beat up a man who has no legs,
Is it us with two to run away with,
That won’t get pummelled into submission?
Has tyranny taken over our seat of power?
That even a bomb from the sky,
Is heard at IDP camp,
Has corruption eaten so deep?
That stash of dollars,
Money so big to buy a country,
Is found in the hand of one man,
Are we this stupid?
That a big player in our finance says:
‘Recession is but a word in the lexicon of the English man’
And then she sits at her fancy office,
And watch us die from her effect.
In this theatre of dreams,
Back and forth we keep going,
Masses gathering for a match,
Voices shouting on the street,
Solders picking up their guns,
BH going extinct,
The social media going abuzz.
In this midst of ravaging hunger,
And a man whose name sounds like asi the Igbo word
Comes out in a big screen,
To tell us lies as if we are fools.