Beautiful little things

Sitting still in the center,

Surrounded all around by weeping winds,

Enclosed by homeland walls,

Turning I faced the northern stalls,

Blood and gore spattered my face,

Grimacing in disgust,

I turned visage southward,

But oily tears and the dank damp smell of corruption,

From oil wells and their inhabitants,

Had me turning away quickly,

But not before I glimpsed,

The corruption of leaders,

Flattening with giant opulence the masses,

I watched through the crack in my shield,

The little boys across my street,

Dribble and score dreaming of stardom,

On famous soccer fields,

But their dreams dashed against reality,

Forced to fend and bend to another’s will,

I soon turned to the east,

The land of the daring and industrious,

Yet home was scanty,

Our young men abroad on foreign green pastures,

Tilling and farming a strangers land,

I walked slowly through abandoned homestead,

Hearing the frozen laughter of playing children,

The ghosts of a better past,

In the west I found,

A little baby growing,

By leaps and bounds,

Corruption, who cut milk teeth on servile blood,

I closed my minds blinds,

Determined to stop this painful drama,

To end this comic tragedy,

But not before I caught a glimpse,

Of chimamanda adichie,

Not before I had seen the works of,

Okonjo iweala,

Mikel obi,

Onyeka onwenu…….

I saw you and I saw me,

Determined to rise from ashes of diseased democracy,

And my roving eyes remained inert on,

This beautiful little things.