If I sounded my harp, and played a dirge
Would you come to me?
If I wept until my eyes were flames of anger
And my voice broke like a widow’s hopes
Would you come to me?
If I told you who set fire to the rooftop
Who pawned the land and bartered the women
Who sold our dreams and mocked our hopes
Who plotted in the night and gloated at dawn
Would you come?
If I stripped to my skin and swore upon our clan
On our ancestors and every offspring since dawn
If I drew my own blood and tasted it,
If I breasted the Holy Book and on my knees slept
Would you come?
If you found out this was only a game, not life
That the legend is a whore, the woman not your wife
They planned to bury you under your own oak tree
If I proved beyond doubt your face has two men
Would you come?
If I woke you to the procession in progress:
Party of liars, and thieves, and murderers
Of clowns, evil spirits and demons dressed in garbs of gold
Headed for Hades on chariots of power
Would you come?
If I showed you mass murders and mass funerals
The blood of collusion that flows beneath your throne
If I showed you how they plotted against the homestead
And the chapters and verses by which they buried our future
Would you come to the junction of heaven and earth?
If I played the dirge they penned for the unborn
If I broadcast the tears of women with wombs betrayed
The screams of ancestors as they break out of their tombs
Would you bring your manhood, your menace, your mayhem,
Would you overrun the street corner?
Would you rise taller than the Iroko, roar louder than a pride of lions
Would you bring your blazing outrage, your searing courage
Your strong right arm, your arms and ammunition
Your thunder, your arson, your sanction,
Screaming: No more, No longer, Nevermore!
[First published February 21, 2009]
This column welcomes rebuttals from interested government officials.
• @Sonala.Olumhense
