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December 11, 2016
Poetry

FEEL LIKE HE DID BY OFEM UBI

FEEL LIKE HE DID BY OFEM UBI
December 11, 2016
Poetry

I am tired of the green grains of cereal you offer me in take away packs
I’m fed up with the CL sugary liquids you give me
No offense but I need more than that
I’m tired of chasing you in highways being offered nothing but chicken change that holds no trust of guarantee what my next second might be
I’m a child with no choice so I do as told
I’m tired of holding your loins and hands because mom said I must bring back something tangible else I’m as useless as a dead finger battery
I’ve become nothing but a silent noise
A product of a broken home, a one night stand, deadly war, violence and molestation some call me refugee
I’m a candle in the wind
And my light is slowly dimming
My wax is almost burnt away
I’m a typical definition of “Anywhere belle face ”
I gaze at myself unsure of what the Grey future carries for me
I bare nothing but a stinking breathe
I need help
I might not be a product of your sperm cells or fertile wombs
I might be Asian, Liberian, Egyptian, Cameroonian or Lebanese
But if you have the love of HIM in your heart then these don’t really matter
For we’re both bones wrapped in sinful skin
So when next I approach you
With a fading heart and sun poked eyes
When next my scaly fingers lay grip on the hem of your garment,
A child with an issue not of blood but of the uncertainty of a better life
Do not be too rigid to FEEL LIKE HE DID
Stare right into them
And let me take you on a bumpy ride to the solitude I face daily
See the silent screams of a young child who needs more than squeezed mints and party rice
Who knows not the 26 alphabets and ordinary numbers
Who knows not the experience of a balanced diet
Who knows no bedtime stories and lullabies deserving of his/her age
Who knows nothing like a siesta neither the Joy that comes with the emergence of NEPA because even if he/she did what was the use? There was no TV to feed eyes on anyway
See that my soul is nothing but a river of tears waiting to be dried by the kerchief of a Good Samaritan
You might not be him
But you might be the stepping stone that triggers my revolution
FEEL

By _iamscripted

I am Ofem Ubi
A student of mass communication
Lover of art, good music, poetry, photography
Christian by birth and till death
This is my blog

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