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We are weak at knees but our huts
Are built by hands not plucked off trees
We invest a lot to get no gain
And it seems we are meant for pains,
Hence, we all book an appointment
At embassies, for better breath
Reducing working hands to few
Dragging luggage on a long queue
Waiting for our time, most times by feet
For days, we hiss crossing deserts,
Sore ligaments, many breakdown
Others sex slaved, we kiss and frown…
Yet these greedy green grasshoppers
We voted and call our Nation leaders
Are not perturbed that we flood out
Neither are they concerned we blackout.
Do not fall like the cards in rows
Do not spiral out of control
So keep doing that you are good at
Live to tell the tales, of your kites
I am not Martin Luther King
But, I have a dream and it’s big
That one day there shall be an end
To our foolishness and dying beds
I know we are knotted by tight ties,
And the Devil may cry, but not die
No matter the prayers and ill-words…
But; one good day, he shall be bored
And then our town shall abort all
Evils, and cut off greedy claws
To transform grasshoppers to ants
Building shelters and making plans.
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
We are in abundance
Yet we complain of darkness.
Inside pits, that are shallow;
We hide behind the shadow.
Our melanin we pour ore
Under the hot scorching sun;
Hot-cakes fly like birds, to lands
Where they can be better brands.
Leaving behind, the half baked
To dictate, the give and take,
Talking; whereas, as critics
We bury the beams and rays
Yet we beg for candlelights
From the waxes we burnt out.