motherland screams my name as i lay on my half-eaten bed.
she doesn't call me by my Christian name;
she calls me by the name that thunders my identity.
i open my eyes to see a bleeding mother.
i see a door fixed at the terrain of her abdomen.
she beckons me to come into her through the door
and i heed; no restrain.
the door creaks with pains.
there are many footprints here;
some men had been here before me.
she shows me the regions embossed on her,
and i wonder why they all drown in a river of blood.
curiosity flaps its wings wildly, so i explore the regions.
i see men's manhood become firestorms :
i watch a man burn a thirteen-year-old girl's girlhood into womanhood.
i watch an auntie teach a boy the magic on a woman's body,
and this boy will grow to write sex into the only existing pleasure.
i see a mother who sings threnodies with a fading voice,
probably, she sings them for too long now.
i ask her why she sings like a woman who had lost the joy of motherhood.
she says nothing. she is so engrossed in the threnodies.
motherland asks,
how do you feel when you watch your only son lose his breath to the whirlwind of bullets of those who were supposed to protect him?
i explore further, and i see Benue.
the river of blood overflows therein.
children lose their fountains here
and they become hobos.
i hear dirges rise into thunder,
they deafen my ears.
every water in me runs out to grieve motherland :
tears, sweats and urine.
she bears too much tragedies,
i can't watch them anymore.
i run towards the door
but she grasps me and says,
say me a prayer before you leave
i bleed profusely
and i wish to heal.
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