In my country
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In my country


By solitaryPoet  Posted on 22nd Jan 2019

Estimated reading time: 3 mins 1 secs



© Copyright notice: No part of this story should be produced in any other format or distributed elsewhere without the prior notice of management of Country Tales or the author.

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They say life is cruel
And they see every struggle as a duel
So some guys take to guns
And guns spit out death
And death is calamity
Not on the 'killed' alone
But also the killer
Who killed freedom with a bullet
And destroyed a struggle.

There are those who fear
The sight of gun
And despise the thoughts of death
So they dressed and searched
Not for a job but a mummy
A mummy who could offer them sugar
In exchange for horny
That is not funny
Because sometimes when a mummy
Becomes so horny
It could just become thorny
And thorny can be bloody
And bloody is not funny
Because the taste of sugar
Fades away with time
And then sugar becomes bitter
And a bitter mummy is like a roaring lion
Obsessed and possessed
And possessed is demonic
And demonic is without conscience
But in this world who cares about conscience
When its only money that make sense?

While the ladies
Some take to the roads
And trade what their pants should have
For a plate of lunch and cloth
The others make it professional
They call them runs girls
They run to the men
And the men use them as rags and run away
And some run into destruction
In search of a daddy 
A daddy of other children
To lure and be lured
Because even a daddy
Comes with so much sugar
And these Daddies are senseless
Because sugar is diabetic 
And diabetic drains
A daddy of all his brain
And a drained brain forgets
That there are children to feed
And not to feed is to abandoned 
And to abandoned is to fail
And a failed child will fail the society
And one day may fail his family
Because failure has been the thread
Which his shattered dreams were sewn with
And a shattered dream cannot lead
It is all the same profession
It’s all prostitution
They have taken our fathers.
And our fathers who should lead
Have lost the art of fatherhood
And fatherhood is leadership
And leadership starts at home
But homes are so broken 
They cannot be sewn
Even with industrial machines
And if a broken father is a leader
A leader that is broken
And broken becomes a nation
A nation with broken roads
Roads with broken cars
Driven by broken men
To broken homes
Where electricity is broken
And to broken schools
Where education is broken
To produce broken graduates that cannot even find broken jobs
To hold together their broken hearts

And so
A broken father
Produces a broken home
And a broken home 
Produces a broken leader
That rules over a broken nation
With broken roads
Broken education
And a broken system
And a broken system 
Is like a broken cistern
It cannot hold water
So here in this country
Everything is broken

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solitaryPoet's picture

About Idorenyin Matthew


My Name is Idorenyin Matthew, From the South-South of Nigeria. I hold a degree in History and International Studies from the University of Calabar, Nigeria. writing is the most passionate thing that keeps me going, that's why I've never stopped writing from the first day I started. View profile

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