THE RAVAGES OF WAR II

Therefore here I am,
A herald of peace,
A messenger of love,
An agent of tranquility;
Calling on our leaders and government,
And the world at large,
Inviting all and sundry to a meeting of reconciliation,
And to a gathering of unity,

Enough is enough!
I just can't comprehend the reason for the fighting,
I fail to see the wisdom in any cause achieved by socio-political crisis and wars,
And the sense behind the killings and abuse is totally out of sight,
Please friends, let us call a truce,
Let us consider reconciliation and resolution,
Take a deep plunge into the ocean of pacification,
And cultivate from the fields of peaceful co-existence,

For though we are different,
Deep down in us all is a common interest that binds us together-we are all humans,
Let us together restore hope to the hopeless,
Peace and stability to the war-torn,
Life to the lifeless,
Health to the sick,
And live healthier, happier lives.

THE RAVAGES OF WAR

As I looked across the continents from my mind's eye,
Visualizing the globe with the vision of my soul,
I could see the destruction the Middle east is plagued with,
The turmoil that rages within Africa,
And the perplexity that grips our world,
So perciptible have these become to my senses,
That physical evidence became needless,

Considering the mass destruction of nuclear weapons,
The hunger and poverty that has become typical of the almost forgotten regions,
The outburst of epidemics and pandemics,
And the ever emaciating lives of the world's dark zones;
Supported on scrawny legs and characterized by bulging stomachs,
My heart bled for this gross negligence,
My spirit was crushed for this despicable injustice,

And as I hear and read of economic depressions ignited by warring nations,
The despondency, distress, and grief in which many now live,
The poor and helpless children whose hopes and future have been dashed,
And jeopardized by the ills of senseless battles,
And the social unrest and inter-ethnic crisis,
Precipitated by the onset of national uproars and international feuds,
Rivulets of tears rolled down my cheeks,
I could not help but weep for the ravages of war...

TO BE CONTINUED...
Copyright Lysious

CAN LOVE GROW STALE? II

As I sat on this warm wooden bench all by myself in the park,
I saw what turned out to be an unpleasant scenario;
Two lovers cuddled up against each other on a pew, kissing,
When on her lover, the girl accidentally spilled drink,
Then in a rage so unfriendly, and an action so inhumane,
He pushed her, hit her and went away,
She knelt begging, but he ignored her and drove off,
Then again, I found myself asking;
Can love to its own become adamant?
Can it turn out to be unforgiving, and unrepentant?

As I strolled down the sidewalk,
I witnessed a scene so unheard off;
A couple with much gaiety, hopped out of a mall with their son and into the car,
Attempting to drive off, without their son-they forgot him,
Then I found myself asking;
Can love develop a memory so full as to forgot its own,
Then for the last time I found myself asking;
Can love turn egocentric?
Can it become so eccentric?

CAN LOVE GROW STALE?

As I walked through the serenity of the winter woods,
With the cold of the season chilling my face,
And as I looked at the leaves shivering in the cold,
I found myself asking;
Can love grow cold?
Like humans does it grow old?

As I plodded by a neighbor's cottage,
I heard the cry of a baby left unattended to and uncared for,
It cried until it passed out in sleep,
Then I found myself asking;
Like that crying baby left uncared for, and unattended to,
Can love grow stale?
Can it grow weary, go to sleep and turn pale?

As I looked out my window in this cold winter eve,
I saw a lad among his peers, looking cheerful and joyful,
Then he was suddenly pushed aside and in the cold, was left alone,
He loved, but was never loved,
Then I found myself asking;
Can love suddenly turn lonely?
Can it be treated in a manner so poorly?

IF I TOLD THE TRUTH...II

Now I'm finally initiated, I'm totally made;
And yes, they kept to their words-I get paid,
Everywhere I go, the people scream my name,
Oh! I'm loving every bit of this fame,
With each passing day, I do the people's bid; so I rise,
And with every chance, I speak the people's language; so I'm wise,
I have them in my hands-with the words I speak, they're mesmerized,
Like a demi-god-with the lyrics I write, I'm idolized,
I have blended in, now a full part of the system,
I do what the system says, it runs in my system,
But in the darkness and silence, I see my elusiveness, like a shadow,
A simple camouflage living in a shadow,
So the truth cries to be heard,
And the light seeks to be shared,
But again I ask, "if I told the truth...?"

If I told the truth,
Will the people still love me?
If I told the truth,
Will they still invest in me?
If I told the truth,
Will the media still headline my story?
If I told the truth,
Will my fortune become history?
But the people desreve what they need, not what they want,
Or is that for me to decide?
Will my actions, my life, come to hunt?
Or is it my function to preside?
Isn't there more to life than this vanity?
Isn't there more to life than this drama?
Or is it all about prosperity?
Isn't there something like karma?
I'm still asking, if I told the truth,
What will happen?
To suffer the pain and let go off the gain,
Or to enjoy the gain and let go off the pain?
You be the judge!

IF I TOLD THE TRUTH...

Lights, camera...
But wait! Not action, but deception,
I'm finally in the land of the rich and the beings of high position,
The stage is set,
The people's demands, I have met,
The crowd is cheering,
The fans are hailing;
They love me,
They want more, more of entertainment that is free,
Free of criticism, free of the truth, free of true reality,
They admire and adore my personality;
I feel like I'm on top of the world, so high,
I feel like an eagle, soaring the sky,
So I give them what they desire, they cheer,
I tell them what they want to hear, it's fair.
But on my inside, the truth lies, suppressed,
Within me, the light exists, oppressed,
So when the lights go off, and the cameras come off, behind closed doors,
The true content of my soul, I pour,
And I ask, "if I told the truth...?"

They told me I had to re-organize,
But they actually meant, I had to compromise,
I wanted fame and fortune,
They said I could, I was opportuned,
I wanted to be flash with so much cash;
To wine and dine with the wealthy at every bash,
They said I could, but I had to drop the reality,
Transform, and put on a new identity;
I desired control, influence and power,
They told me I could have it, with each passing hour,
All I had to do was to play along,
And show that I belonged,
Because in this land, the mirage is the real deal,
And the real deal is not so real,
But when night falls, and I fall into the deep,
Of my mind and spirit, lying asleep,
The truth stares me in the face,
And the light desires to take its place,
But then I ask, "if I told the truth...?"


TO BE CONTINUED...
Copyright Lysious

THE SORROWS OF CHILDHOOD; A NOVEL CONT'D

Seven

A Mirage of Hope

      

    In the dawn of 1852, the whole Bight of Benin became a British protectorate, where a representative represented the protector, until 1861, when the Bights of Biafra and Benin became a united British protectorate, still under a British representative.

    After this period around the 1880s and 1890s, when the white men from the Great Britain came to sign an agreement with the Oba of Benin, he refused because he didn’t want to loose his slaves and his autocracy. The camp guards usually told us of the Oba’s encounters with the British people, emphasizing that we can never be free and that they were prepared to fight with the last drop of their blood to keep us enslaved. As a testimony to this we heard of the ruthless murdering of eight British representatives who were sent to investigate the ritual human sacrifices in the kingdom. We were not surprised because ruthlessness was a defining part of the Oba’s personality. What got me pondering, however, was why that land was called great, if it could not suppress the Benin Empire.

     The British however lived up to their name, when a group of British armed soldiers under the command of a man who introduced himself to us as Admiral Rawson. The group which had 1200 soldiers invaded the Benin Empire in 1897, conquered and utterly destroyed it- the all magnificent and awe-inspiring Empire was torn down, like an ant is crushed by an elephant. This group is today known as the ‘Punitive Expedition’, a title I came to understand after years of African history studies. I also realized much later that many African countries have long been conquered by this British people, and slavery had been curtailed reasonably in those countries, since 1807. The Benin Empire was among the last to be conquered.

       After the fall of the Benin in 1897, the British set apart the Warri province to punish the then Oba of Benin, after the death of his father; the one that captured us died on exile in Calabar in 1914, as we were informed by the British. The province was also set up to curb his imperial power, and although the Benin monarchy was restored in 1914, true power was bestowed on the colonial administration of Nigeria, my father land. We were happy and relieved to see the cruel and ruthless monarch go through suffering. It was his pay back time for all the sorrows, sufferings and deaths he and his predecessors caused us. The final decline of the Benin Empire led to its loss of independence, sovereignty, king; its control of trade, especially the slave trade, and its pride. The aptly named, ‘Punitive Expedition’ or Punishers as I used to call them totally humiliated the Empire. The defeat, capture and subjugation of Benin paved the way for British military occupation and later conquest of the adjacent areas with Benin, under Benin administration; and were merged into the Niger coast protectorate, then into the protectorate of southern Nigeria and finally into the colony and protectorate of Nigeria.

       Although the arrival of the British launched the whole nation into the colonial era, we were grateful that the shackles of bondage have been broken from us. It was like moving from a deeper level of bondage to a lighter, pretty comfortable level of imperialism. Under the British colony, we could travel to other Nigerian states and countries, and our right to education was not infringed upon. We even returned to Nri, the land of our nativity, the place of our origin and began the process of rebuilding it. The British government offered a great help. Our king was restored, our pride returned; our culture and tradition revived and finally laughter filled our mouths.

       However, as I witnessed this whole process of revolution and transformation, tears rolled down my cheeks; I was grieved over the untimely death of Omalichanwa, my pride. She did not live to see the end of slavery. She died as a result of malnutrition. She was born, bred and died a slave; her whole life encircled by slavery. Her death hurt me even more than the death of my parents and the departure of Dimkpa; for she was a part of me, a product of my blood and labor. I saw her crying each time I closed my eyes. She was the only dream I had at night, and I mourned her for months. This whole revolution would have been a lot happier with her by my side. But I had to move on with my life; crying could do nothing to bring her back from the land of the dead.

       Following the onset of the colonial era, my distant aunt, Adanne, my mother’s sister who traveled to London before the beginning of the slave period, decided to return to Lagos, a state in the western part of Nigeria, which was now a British colony. She paid us a visit at the village, and after consoling me for all I had been through; especially the death of my parents and daughter, and the physical and sexual abuse I was subjected to, informed uncle Agu of her intention to take me with her to Lagos, so I could start all over again on a clean slate. Aunt Adanne looked very beautiful and glamorous with her sparkling eyes, round face, thick lips, full breasts that looked like those of an expectant mother engorged with milk, and plump body that accentuated her feminine curves. Her legs were smooth, hairless and straight. She also had a fine car and seemed to have lived luxuriously in London. I was very excited at the news, and couldn’t wait to follow her to Lagos. I thought my hope had come, I envisioned a new dawn had arrived. But as it turned out, life with aunt Adanne was an unrealistic desire; it was only a mirage of hope.