Last year was my last Christmas in Biafra.
Freshly bathed in the drizzle of the Morning Yet on Creation Day
After the long night tales of How the Leopard Got His Claws,
I finally know the reason why mother always said, Beware Soul Brother!.
Mother always warned to beware of the self-proclaimed Man of the People
For things were No Longer at Ease.
Soulfully she played The Drum
And with The Flute, she bewailed our recent woes.
I had visited the Anthills of the Savannah
In hope of seeing Chike and the River
There, An Image of Africa stood crying
And reminded me of the woes of The Short Century.
Arise, O Great Ink! Make clear to me the lines of your ancient parchments.
Could it be you lied that Things Fall Apart because There Was a Country?
What if there was never a Country?
And instead we fell by the arrow of men and not the Arrow of God.