Nigeria Pain Poem by Izuoma Ibe

Who will hear our story?
Who will see our drama?
Who will listen to our plea without scorn?
Trivial posture on us by our lustful leaders
Stealing from home
Painting neighbors’ houses
While we live in huts
Yet brag to be greener.
If we yell aloud of our pain
This rises by wake of the sun
Won’t ears shut at our undeserved experiences?
Meted on us by our lustfully-desired ambassadors.
Which ear will give us audience?
For we cry in the midst of plenty
Which man will desire our identity?
We preach unity
But how united do we stand
We stand by the tripod
One yet to serve
Two clutch to power
Silently stealing steadily of our black blood
Which dead will smile at death
Listening to the wail of her children
While left with variety of dishes
What heart can carry this entire burden?
And never would break down.