Stillborn Children Of Discontent Poem by Michael Achile Umameh

We will remember Biafra
We will not forget Biafra
Stillborn son of fury
Promised half of the rising golden sun.
Mist-plaited crowns hang
on your high-ridged mountains
as the broken bell peals with thunder
and the gagged Ogene gong thuds
like a dead load of wooden slab
the dance, dead upon your daughters' waists.
No sound, no music, silence gazes from the grave.
On those who long to travel thousand miles
into the seven sad forest
to listen to the clown with a broken tongue
while the itchy fingers of writers and critics
type us heart-wrenching statistics
We will remember
We will not forget
To cry
For Nigeria and for Biafra
For Oduduwa and for Arewa
For the stillborn children of discontent
served the poisoned husks from our past,
and the fallen flag in the dust

We will remember Biafra
We will not forget Biafra
As the waters tumble from your mighty mountains
There, a votive gathering of lamentations,
The sound of many waters, roar
To count our hurts and our dead
To measure the depth of our wounds
To claim our rights to cry
and to offer a votive of vexations
while the ghosts of heroes
in despair, weep
Okigbo, Balewa, Akintola; Ojukwu and
all who died not knowing why
all who killed not knowing why
they too,
who trod upon life as upon a road
We will remember
We will not forget
To cry
For Nigeria and for Biafra
For Oduduwa and for Arewa
For the stillborn children of discontent
served the poisoned husks from our past,
and the fallen flag in the dust.