Cookie Iwuoha


Son Of Depression - Poem by Cookie Iwuoha

I investigated religion
Till there is no more faith in me
Questioned politics
Till I bled for my society
Praised my country
Till I was ridiculed
for a cheap sycophant,
doubted love till I found myself willing to die
For others

I coveted wealth, till I got repulsed of it
Learnt that false security is its only promise
Hated it for its failure to provide joy
Yet its quest is the addiction of humanity
I am disappointed of priests and evangelist
Who makes profit off the misery of their followers
The congregation sing of end to strife,
empty their pockets into the usher’s tray
Only to return home to empty tables
wondering how God forgot a promise

Music remains ever faithful friend
For it mocks my sadness
and Gladdens the loneliness of my night and days

Sleep, I have crucified you on the cross of darkness
and thus have banned my nightmares from
Materializing into forms on the expense of your existence
My senses, I war you, knowing I win nor lose against you,
And will remain captive of the clutches of your ambition

My demons and fears,
I welcome you to my bed of illusions
To wine and dine with my angels and undying aspirations
For I prefer the throne of a pauper to the amusement of your mockery

Still on my way to Golgotha to find salvation
And my cross of sins heavy on my conscience,
I have only hope and courage as company
Knowing that pain and misery will hug my every step
Down the lonely lanes of my insanity because
Humanity and its centuries of atrocities hug my young memory
Torturing my minds clarity

Was I the child soldier of Angola?
Sacrificed to the unquenchable thirst of the Gods of War
detonation of a landmine means my death
My death creates a passage for the coming soldiers of men behind me
Used by those that I fight with
now who is truly my enemy

was I the toddler of Freetown
though not yet old enough to cast a vote
had my arms hacked off
even when I know not the political parties of my nation
No certificate of surviving the war was mine
yet still had my uncertain future handicapped
by the brothers of my own nation
just for the love of horror

I am the offspring of war rapes of Darfur
And Congo, who laments for they are not loved
Rejected by mother and abandoned by father
And I grow up to become the whore of society
And will only regain my dignity
when God comes to kneel and weep for my forgiveness
for he made this monstrous creatures and called them men

I am the son of depression
Who curse the gods of this earth
For making an imperfect world,
Allowing an imperfect angel become a demon,
And imperfect men married her wickedness

What a world, no joy is constant,
Even wives and lovers gets separated by death and distance
Hardship and shame the poor’s only birthright,
Resistance with struggle, only path of liberation for the oppressed,
To the imprisoned freedom will always remain a dream,

This is either honesty or blasphemy
God have failed Man
This i know deep in me and I stand on this.
Praying to die pure enough
So I can have a conversation
with the maker of earth
in my life after death
to understand the reasons why
because to all the mysteries of this world
I will always remain a child.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010



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