Field Of Fire Poem by Kennedy Oluoma

Last to be hired, first to be fired
Yet on our oil rich land, their filthy band
No green plant above the earth. Gas flaring sickens our health
No rich meadow for my leisure, no pleasure.
Contaminated meadows, horrible sight from our old cracked windows.


At the egde of the river, a foot had lurched over
Soiling for daily bread, toiling in vain living in cowshed.
Death, if come soon or late, would one hesitate?
See how royalties are loyal thieves
Deceased right is an uncertainty, maybe fifty-fifty

Fish dead afloat, ashore wobbles the fisherman's boat.
Angry youths acclaim weapon, unleash terror there-upon
Government and oil firms hold first plenary, invites military.
Agreed on a dubious accord, more ammunitions militancy could afford
Headline read: A struggling village bled.


Second plenum, youth and community reps struck dumb
Death now and then, J.T.F. five militants ten
Yet of the same father, no foriegn partner
Imbroglio. The nation's new motto
I wonder, for you make my home a field of fire.