Poets are not sadists. They are not gods that gulp the gin of joy at the entrance of war drums.
They are not men who rejoices with the vulture over mass killings. No!
That you decided to spell Nigeria’s name with blood in your pen, that you decided to chase joy into the river flowing from retina is just our business, let’s face it.
We write what we see. We see death, we write death.
We see doom, we paint her in her red attire.
No, don’t call us sadists. Call yourself a murderer, Nigeria!
Daily, we caress sadness in the dailies. You feed us with News of how death flows in frequencies, of how war bloom in our bosom, of how you raise a money worth putting on our tables ‘Manna from Aso’ within the twinkle of an eye because of your intention to lead this saddening nation.
You could have left it for us to write of your good deeds of
that amount was raised for the Motherless or the futureless or those who sleep on stone beds in the naked chill of Agege bridge.
Nigeria, don’t call us sad writers. We were your children. We were
those you forgot at the torn quarters. We were those you denied at gun point so when we write of your desperate act and cruelty, don’t call us sadists.
If you want to read happy poems. You want us to write odes to your name, Nigeria, show us why!
We are tired of bloody poems. We are afraid of ghouls. We are scared to walk at night, we may trample upon living skulls.
We cant move upward, we are afraid of being suya(ed).
Nigeria, don’t call us sadists. We are poets. Poets from a sad nation.
Adedayo Adeyemi Agarau
Picture Source: http://thediaryofabadman.blogspot.com/