Born-To-Obey [B.O.R.N.O] by Opia-Enwemuche Maxwell Onyemaechi

BORN-to-Obey (B.O.R.N.O)

Burn,

Open old wounds,

Rain careless bullets,

Never surrender territories,

Obliterate peace with violence

This is the present state of B.O.R.N. O

This should not be waved aside

when a lot of people die by the side.

This should not form a campaign song

when a lot has prevented us getting along.

This should not be based on religion

when we have to equip our national Legion.

This should not be seen as a myth

when we are all feeling the gruesome heat.

BORNO is under fire

and there are chants for political desires.

Peace is not a package from Santa,

but a collective responsibility sweeter than Fanta.

BORNO needs peace laden with fresh air

and not the killings here and there.

BORNO is BORN-to-Obey

her future should be secured today

or we wash away our future

as they dance and diffuse peace on belligerent aperture.

Opia-Enwemuche Maxwell Onyemaechi

He is a master storyteller, a poet and a novelist who loves adventure, culture and uphold God. His poem, The gods are Angry was listed in the anthology, Footmarks: Poems on One Hundred Years of Nigeria's Nationhood. He has written a full-length novel, The Oracle of Isieke which is available on Okadabooks. He is currently working on a collection of stories. Catch a glimpse of his poetry, short stories and opinion on https://maxxzymusdapoetblog.wordpresss.com

Enjoyed reading?

Please leave a comment and share with friends.

Thank you!

Comments

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog