Nigerian Orient

With everyday sunrise and everyday toil,
With the angry brewing in the hearts of those forsaken minds of the north.
The chaos of the market women, never-ending and the cold and ill comfort of here.
With the omitted spices of life, I see the lifers of the east purposeless.
Despite the charm of the Ibo’s, distrust is cast to us.
Irrespective of our thought enterprises, we are said to never equal the magic of the earth’s orient.
Fortes are left to disuse,
Minds sicken by grief,
Hearts struck with fear and dread,
Our emotions, hacked into shreds,
No shrouds to cover our dead ones,
No shawl to cover our pitiable faces,
Eye bags swollen with tears,
No hope of redemption.
The grace of the east, oh grace, oh grace.
Here our voice oh people of emancipation.
We are in a torn environ,
Our children sicken and disgust.
These great gifts to us, our everything left to mournful suffering.
We have come to a point of no return.
We are broken.
Life tastes like the revolt of the wicked flesh of West African pepper.
Love and oneness is what unites our families.
We have forgotten the feeling and sense of happiness.
We have not been happy in a long while.
Heretics of peace- thieves, invade our homes and plunder with the sweats of our parents.
We are afraid to work for it is now useless.
I plead for the manumission of my people, Ibos.
We go by nameless names; Igbo people, South easterners but to me- We are The Nigerian Orient.


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