Felix Emeka George


Lottery - Poem by Felix Emeka George

Keep calm!
Listen respectfully from afar
I can see the walking trick.
Just as yester-years
Look! watch! very strange
A man who dashes his foot against the same hard objects,
Is he a witty man
Or a foolish one?


If our forefathers watch today
And see what we do to ourselves without duress
They would answer my question
Because they witnessed the days of slavery.


Silence and cunning friendliness
are the term of their trickery at night.
In the dark of night,
perpetrating the game of taking others' property.
Yes! It is no different.
Long time ago it got covertly done
Today we witness it in an overt way
Our land that is wealthy is cultivated and reaped
And we are given just o'er a penny in return.

What goes through the pipeline
Snakelike. ugly and venomous creature
Siphoning in triangle form to their home with ungeunine kind feelings.
These people are invaders
Successful as actors,
Processing the invader,
remodeling him.
In a belt for intrinsic fools
they find explanations to satisfy that I cannot serve in the Army,
In a dictatorial manner
and yet I follow them into the dooming pits.

False recipients
creating illusions via pantomime acting.
Invaders!
Dressed like priests
Armed like armies.
If I am taken to the stream
I would rather be dead than drink of their pretend gods,
Because I have only one supreme being.
Before the coming of these unwanted friends
My name was purely African

The century has turned
Our eyes formerly cloistered.with your scripts and beads
now are as those of eagles.
The decrees and doctrines
With which you led
our homestead to destruction,
like a bad bush in slavery
We see now

You heap on my heritage
Like the hunch back man the commonwealth gyre of winner
Where I am both participant and spectator.
Like a mauling
I remain tattered yet my sweat fruits fall everywhere despite my suffering.
Gaining lil like spectator
Working hard like participant.

Lastly I warn my people
We're going on self slavery
Of payroll's purse swollen like rice in water for returns
Worse than a diminishing return of salt in liquid

Hear my cry
of the fastest growing criminal rolls
Like the market world slaves of yester crops
And today's lottery imploring.

Copyright © Felix Emeka George | 15 June 2017

Topic(s) of this poem: criticism


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, June 25, 2017



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