Mazi Oh!

Bamboo and thatches

Squared with tendrils

Of thorns descent

Cleave like thick walls

Round the palace

Of a humble peasant

Mazi Okonta stays

Flexing his thought muscles

In a dilemma

Of his petty choice

Should he sale ewu omalicha

To buy the Christmas hen?

Or should he slay omalicha

To feast this Christmas?

Each thought bears sweat

Akin to a mother in labour

So deep within him

Omalicha has grown

To be his prized Ally

In a mountain top hut

Devoid of frequent visit

And chewing of parable greased kolanut

But either way

He would be hurt

Mazi Oh!

A brisk echo of a comrade

Breaks him into an unbalanced bicycle

Treading the hills of Udi

Alas! He got hold

Of his grey hairs and red cap

My son – see my pain

So the stranger comrade

Sways his head

Like a waving flag

Only slowly

He walks away

Like his silence

Has silenced Mazi’s proding

This is Nigeria!

Should votes be sold

Or given to our conscience

Either way

We are jinxed in doom

You vote – he comes

You sale – he also comes

Who has done this to us?

They! Only with timely flashes

Of ethnicity and poverty

Deluded we are

Without foreseeing the anarchy.

By Minstrel

Loves writing...

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