| Poem | Daubed Fingers

Until lips strike like thunder

Our chest board remain soft like oven bread;

Buttered and toasted with tiny vigour to cry

Till we cough blood, the river will not dry

As road bend, robber band stretched so our fate lies  

We inherited oodles of cowries in days, when

paper naira
                                   is
                                                    invoke

Tell the time to wait because I want to correct it

My time drown at the polling booth

My choice traded on coin foot

While with cooked lip, I watch to feel good

As I flip through pages, waiting to see you

We have choice but they seized our voice

Our choice holds our voice

Till wisdom come, we will live in shame

Nothing but fame drives them to insane

Even our children watch because they will do same

I am a glorified 70s even as mystery greets the 20s

Lips of many colours, garments of white churches

I will still continue to live in my 70s

With daubed finger, I can still create the future,

we

all

 want!

I won’t watch thing change to bad

I will continue to change the bad

Till my shoes grow bend and my mouths goes dry

I am in the move so join me.

(C) 2016 - Divine Nwoye