False face

I have loved selflessly 

Only to learn I was an option.

I have been fiercely loyal

Only to learn my loyalty was a joke.

In pain I've cried, in torment I've burned 

With tears and ash I've made a mask.

I'd sacrifice for strength, I'd persevere for love.

My mask shields my scars.

This is not my real face.

It begins with you... Recognise it

The problem of Nigeria is deeply rooted in something so dark; the right words to capture it escape me.

I’d like to call it ‘slave mentality’ but I am not sure that the description does it justice.

It is not for 'servant leaders to rise up' or for voters to 'demand accountability from appointed representatives'. It is to go into the DNA of the vast majority and have this satanic cancer of a rot exorcised.

There is a something gravely wrong in our society – a malevolent spirit rapidly leaching its terrible tendrils of evil into the depths of our society – One way to banish it will be to get violently angry.

To become so angry that we begin to shake off the evilness from our core – we start shaking and do not stop for any reason till we have dislodged the demons of illiteracy, destroyed the spirit of malice and rebuilt a country where love and empathy are the norm.

It is impossible to detail an exemplary list, worse is that not many people are aware of the gravity of the problem and how it happens that one little push in an opposite direction causes a tremendous effect in the other. 

This alone is a problem.

For a girl to build up courage, decide to stop playing victim, confess she was raped and the next thing she is asked is “what were you wearing?”

That is a problem.

For you advice a woman to remain in an unhealthy relationship because “after all; he chose you/comes home to you”, or “he gave you his last name” – like she was a miserable patchwork doll hanging on display at the fairgrounds till he chose her  – he could have had a more desirable life partner but decided to settle for her so rather than complain, she should tolerate watching him make up for her imperfections by creating memories with his more desirable choices.

That is a problem

For a mother of three children to loose her husband and the father of her children and the next thing she hears is “she is young, she will find love again” or “the man was related to me by blood, she (his wife) does not understand my pain.”

That is a problem.

For you to refuse to accept the man your sister choose to marry because he is of a different tribe than you and to never fail to call out his tribe for every human error he makes.

That is a problem.

For you to allow your married friend to use your house as a rendezvous point for his illicit affairs and your defense is “I’m not one to judge, he was my friend first.”

That is a problem.

For a married man to allow his mistress to believe the woman he claims to love is the spawn of Satan and does nothing to stop said mistress from praying and plotting for his dear wife’s demise because the general consensus is that – a man would say anything to get laid – so it is no big deal that he is inadvertently putting his wife in harm's way.

That is a problem.

For you to deliberately train your child to be discourteous, unkind and/or selfish because doing otherwise might result in the child being used for rituals, ransom or worse.

That is a problem.

For you to see your neighbor being assaulted and walk the other way because you are afraid of transferred aggression or worse, you believe said neighbor probably did something to deserve it.

That is a problem.

For you to accept bribe (facilitation fees) for the accreditation of an institution of learning that is ill equipped to train or educate students to avoid the wrath of the powers that be.

That is a problem.

For you to refuse to buy/use/develop made in Nigeria goods and services because you believe the ‘white man’ is more trustworthy or that if you enrich your fellow country man, he would use his wealth to oppress you.

That is a problem.

For you to claim to be a practicing Christian and refuse to acknowledge the greatest commandment of God is “love your neighbor as yourself” but rather spend your communion with him (God) invoking the Holy spirit and even Angel’s Gabriel, Raphael and Michael to burn said enemies (neighbors) to smithereens for some evil you “suspect” them of being involved in.

That is a problem

Election years come and go the closest you go to a polling booth is to take selfies with a celebrity that made a "publicity appearance".  That’s even for an instance when you were able to get your voters card to start with. Be it your fault or the fault of the system; getting mine however, has turned to an epic saga.

We have lost the ability to use our God gifted brains. We have thrown out logical thinking and opt instead to behave like a herd of cattle.  Looking for “Shepherd’s” in churches, confraternities and wealthy peers.

I am trying really hard to live each day better than the last, find happiness in little things and appreciate the value of forgiveness then you have the nerve to tell me I am a pretender? 

Thanks to my kind of education, I recognized a while ago that I am higher up in the food chain. – I am a frigging King, Prophet and Priest.

 I refuse to apologize for not following herd mentality and will not reason or act like an unbranded cow.

Life in Pieces 2

PLEASE DRAW MY ARMS

There is a little girl that was

A pretty little girl

All that she did was pretty

The little girl she was

The little girl did love to draw

Seated on her pretty table, she drew

One day, she drew a pretty picture

The drawing was of me

The drawing made a pretty picture

The prettiest picture that could be!

Eyes that shone, skin that glowed

The picture looked so real

The little girl, she gave me life

Her pretty wand a pencil

With her magic I could jump,

Skipping through the fields, I made a pretty sight

One day while I skipped, I tripped and then I fell

I tried to get up I tried but failed

I called to my maker “Pretty girl where are you?”

The pretty girl was gone

It was while I struggled, I realised I had no arms

I was of paper not meant to last

I searched for the pretty girl

I willed her to come. I

My voice made a pretty sound, a pretty useless sound

The weather turned, the clouds swelled, soon the rain began

Heavy splashes charged at me

Each droplet tearing my world apart

Once more, I tried calling. My voice, now a whisper

Pretty girl, little girl, pretty little girl

Please hear my voice and come to me for alone I cannot stand

In your haste to create a masterpiece, you forgot to draw my arms

                                                                                                                        - July 2003

THESE ARE THE DAYS

These are the days of the prophets

Our counted days on earth

From every corner hear their call

Come and buy my wares

Wealth, redemption or deliverance sold to the high roller!

 Still, these are the days of our prophets

After burning the enemies and their generations unborn

We fail to ease the hurts of the homeless waif

On the streets, children hawk themselves

Sidewalks a fort for ‘used’ women

Yet, these are the days of the prophets

From January to December, we watch and we wait

Humbly we pray eagerly we hope

Salvation lies ahead, forgiveness from the divine

Last night my brother was shot to death

His crime? He dared to stand still

Yes! These are the days of the prophets

A many churches and prayer houses we build

As many slums, batchers, and alleys we fail to destroy

In the morning, we are promised a better tomorrow

In the evening, we sleep with one eye open

Of course, these are the days of the prophets

- March 2009

Culled from Sketches Energy (Unpublished)

A collection of Poems by

Oseyi Okoh

Life in Pieces 1

Lauren: (Loses her husband John on Christmas Eve writes a poem in his honour, post the poem as well as a picture of him on social media.)

 

Ex Colleague: Wow Lauren beautiful poem, I feel your pain. So you too were dating John? Unna plenty oh. My cousin broke up with him last month after finding out he had a wife and 3 kids. Poor woman.

Lauren: John is my husband.

John’s Sister: Wicked woman! You are not grateful you got his last name. Instead of you to be busy mourning my brother, you are here spoiling his name. You are such a pretender. I wish my brother never married you. You are so silly, I can’t imagine what he saw in you.

John’s Friend: Lauren please be strong for your children. Your husband loved you very much. He was driven to work so hard because he wanted the best for you four. You have to accept all Nigerian men cheat, hold on to the happy memories you shared and move on. Don’t let all this put you off a future relationship. You are a good woman, I am certain you will find love again.