Naija – SIMPLE WORLD

An African Depression

I woke up today

And did not get a chance to cry for myself

The news back home already was enough

Papers turning back into trees

A jungle with an ancient apex

A forest without air

I close my eyes and see the slain

Carcasses scattered across the plains

Vultures afraid to eat from the dead

The decay forming green bile

What is depression to me? A psychological horror show where i must rewatch incompetence over and over till my brain awaits any semblance of pain. When will I have time to allow myself to cry for the loved ones I lost or rejoice for the new borns I have. I feel the weight of a country on my shoulders. Is it by force? Yet I cannot look away from the constant purgatory state of a country called an African Giant.

I grew up, content and understanding of structural failure. My childhood years masked with the sweetness of innocence while quietly building a wall of trauma. As tall as the wall of Jericho.

Person matter plus another person matter full ground.

One day, bad road stop am

Another day, thief catch am

Tomorrow, na hospital kill am

Original suffer suffer

Na we suffer pass

Na Africans suffer pass

We gats suffer

Who send us?

Carry bible for head

Carry inferiority for head

Wetin my papa never see

What can I say again? I may be lying to myself, living far away from the madness that gave birth to me. Maybe i am holding onto past memories in current times, replayed to my current self to give me a sense of patriotism that i never had.

The african pain is felt in every living or dead African bones. Africans that had their purpose and dreams destroyed by cowardice held in high offices must hold the drying waters and keep going. The tears that refuse to fall to the ground, dropping into the our hearts, like lava consuming space.

Wetin man go do?

Old Soldier, New War

During the times that have come by, I pray for war to come. Not these new modern warfare. The old kind. Those ones stationed between battle noise and mud trenches. The zipping sounds of mortars, as empty bullet shells illuminate the blood heavy war terrain. Soldier boots marching through old places that were once called new homes.

Yes, I pray night and day. Night and day! Yes, for at night sleep refuses me and tosses me in between my past memories and a future I remain nameless.

………………………………..

These drones are empty vessels. They are transporters of bad news and death. For our souls do hunger for a reason to accept sleep, but no! Not these ones. These silent birds made with fiber like materials only look down, fall flat, and never return up.

Like thin dots silently scattered.

Only if your hands be wide as the oceans floors and you bring them together then one might see how much these dots have cost us.

…………………………………

I grow sick by the hour. Every hour eaten in silence. Every chance taken just to remain still. I grow deeper into my own anger. Madness beckons daringly close ….and I fear I will welcome it back home.

Commander Bull. ENTRY #204881

Battlefront Shagari Sector, Year 2098