(A poem, in the spirit of a collective (mass) asininity)

By: Ngozi Babatola-Ige, phD


Even if the stomach is empty,
Our souls cannot be null and void,
Vague like outcomes of electoral tussles,
Where judicial temples are harbours of miscarriages,
On this ground of solidarity we stand,
Watching, hunting for the enemies of the state,
Our preys are at the National bakery,
Eating day and night without manners our collective inheritance,
We must fight until the resurrection of Giwa,
That those who incarcerated the soul of LovePeddler will be brought to pay at Sahara.

Even if our stomach is empty,
The world must not be hijacked by the children of the evening,
Because freedom, they say, comes from struggles,
We will continue to fight the battles of our existence,
Until the world is at peace with our pockets,
But even if our pockets are at peace with the world,
Shall our sweat and quest for equality be found wanting in wanton prosperity?
An eye for an eye,
Dollar for dollar we will negotiate our way,
So shall the oppressor be sacrificed six feet at bay.


Even if the stomach is empty,
The strength of brotherhood must not fail,
When we proceed in coastals to the coast,
We throw bullets of songs and resistance,
But they fade in the sun like the desire for minimum wage,
Our pockets feed fat on behalf of national solidarity,
Then our resistance degenerates into pleas and pleads,
Until our voices melt in the distance,
In flames and baritones of negotiations,
Where is justice we ask?
For an injustice to one is lack of justice another's wallet,
In the end, the yells and swores of Sahara is left to rot in their hell.

Good poem, I love it from the title to the end.

"For an injustice to one is lack of Justice another's wallet"

Sowore comes to mind