Message To Mr President Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

Mr President of the federal republic,
Our trousers no longer size our waist
because our stomach has refused to grow
to mingle with the cover of our nakedness.
The oil on our lips revolt against us now,
drying before the yam on our hands get
to our mouth, is this the change expected?
Mothers tears across the street, their head a
dome of anger disciplining fury into words.
The fault is not the corruption but our people,
The hunchback on our back has caused the curse.
Tell us with a sweet mouth void of foul aroma,
Are you the messiah which is to come to us?
Are you a real revolutionaries or a democrat?
We thought before the night that we've at least
found a great friend of the poor with food and
cloth, but here is another nightmare to our voices.
The fire in your mouth light the darkness here,
now, we are found in the family of misery and disease to scotch us to agony and death before time.
We can't borrow more mouth from our neighbour
to talk to you of our pains, ours is enough.
Come home, let's reason togther and together
to avoid those who flog others into cages like fowls.
We have waited so long; so long to see mother
Wipe away those tears from her eyes but no one, no one is ready to help her, can you make things right?


(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016