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Friday, July 19, 2019

The Poisoned Chalice(Crude Oil)

The gods hath favoured us an oil of kindness. Hitherto the heavens bequeathed to posterity a legacy for eternity. Beneath the foot of Mother Earth hides a black gold.
Men would sell their souls just to get a taste. Women will slay because of the aura of your aroma.

Nations take up arms against one another just to have you. Brothers at each others throat. Kith and kin at daggers drawn.

Your appearing opened the sky with a torrent of your benevolence. Paupers and opulent scramble for thy booty.

I weep at our folly, our people have deserted the groundnut pyramids and turned their backs on cocoa plantation for a share of your bounty.

Then you came and stole our impeccable peace away. Our hearts know no rest. The Sturdy arms is now a lazy lame duck because of the sweetness of thy wine. You gave birth to a harvest of blood and tears. Misfortune has shown up at our doorsteps.

Deserted lies the green. O mother earth you did bless us. Alas we vouchsafe to thy enchanting beauty.
Our hearts thirst for thy succulent breast. Our mouths hunger as we're made to feed crumbs from thy banquet.

What an irony, in the midst of a rich harvest our children die of kwashiorkor. Suffering in the midst of abundance.

A comedy of errors, the goose that lay the golden egg is without food. Our country like a peacock whose beautiful feathers are plucked out.

Our nation lies in ruins, the salmon and oysters have disappeared from the belly of the fish, no cassava in our farmlands to feed an army of hungry mouths.

Our innocence and serenity you have stolen from us. You birth forth a Siamese twins of blessing and pain, of fame and shame, of gain and pain to our land.

How can we suffer in the midst of plenty. Noxious fumes envelopes the air, fertile lands of yesterday have turned barren. The stream have turned to rivers of blood.
How long shall we stand and look while a few feed fat and live in palatial skyscrapers while we live like second class citizens buried under the rubbles of squalor and slums of penury.

How long will this injustice continue to laugh us to scorn. I fear what lies tomorrow for the seed from my loins and babes yet unborn.
Uche Nwanze
Topic(s) of this poem: irony
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