OF GODS AND HENS By Nlebedim Nzube Harry
1 min read
Groundnut tusks falling on ground
Dusty from disuse
And starvation
Hens pecking up remnants
Thrown from masters’ tables
On grounds
Brown from dirt
And fertility.
Beaks peck beaks in war internecine
Over remnant taken over
As operation Trojan Horse
Actualizes itself
Grains fall here and fall there
Alas! 360 degree circulation
A diversion
A division of a people.
Saliva drops downward
To perched soils
As parched throats quack to get
The lion share
Operation Feed za Nation!
Melons red as blood
100 percent spittle-corrugated
Oh, well, it is the national cake.
One course meal on a platter…
No, not of gold, but
Of hot blood
Of patriot hens fighting
For a redemption
Lost in the vague abyss of 1914
Freedom’s now a course long overdue
Stretching round degree 360 since 1960.
Bigger beaks, bigger take
The small seek
Their grains unfound
God hen and chicks
Wrestle along dusty, futile paths
The dark owl hoots on an iroko
Sounding the dirge
Of destruction of the umpteenth Order
