Of Their Incessant Essence

Shall i scribble for a thousand years
Pour on pages an ocean of ink
Till my phalanges clench
Of the foul plays that stinks more than the skunk
Or that is as obvious as the ripe pimple on my forehead

We have been made...
No! Forced to swim in the seas of their untainted lies
Without a life jacket.And now we drown
We are drowned in the debris of their broken promises,
We have been promised of the crumbs that would fall from tables
When we are meant to be sitted at the table.

They sip of the red wine, the sweat and blood of the people
The liars grin form cheek to cheek
As they crawl likes foxes to wipe the smiles off our caked faces
We cannot write anymore, because the fingers
The little weak fingers are reserved for the tilling of their soil

Shall i write until the last flicker,
Clenching unsteadily to the thread of the candle is gone?
Even when the reservoir of my flowing thoughts is dry and the tap is clogged
I shall go with a bucket of curiosity
Down to the distant spring of wisdom to fetch.
And yes i shall write even if my fingers clench tight
My lips shall be ready to hold the pen.

by uchenna nnodum

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