The ‘futureless’ Nigerian Children
By
Bolutife Oluwadele
They call you leaders of a coming dawn,
The ink with which tomorrow’s tale is drawn.
A “bundle of joy” they sang at your birth,
The dearest treasure of both home and earth.
But where is joy when dawn has turned to dread,
And children sleep on floors where captors tread?
Where is the future, promised, bright and true,
When little hands are tied, and skies stay blue
For those who count their gold instead of tears,
While innocence is shackled by its fears?
Today, we raise a flag, we sing a song,
And dress you in a smile to hide the wrong.
But deep within the forest’s dark lament,
Another child’s tomorrow has been spent.
No chalk, no book, no playground, no reprieve,
Just ransom notes and vigils, numb with grief.
O guardians of the law, the oath, the shield,
Why are your swords so slow, your hearts congealed?
You speak of children as the nation’s root,
Then leave them bleeding at the kidnapper’s boot.
Where are the boots that should have stormed the door?
Where is the fury that should march to war
Against the beasts who tear the womb’s delight,
And sell a future for a single night?
And you, who once held fingers, soft and small,
Whose laughter was the echo of your all,
Do not grow used to this recurring pain.
Do not let grief become a tired refrain.
Lift up your voice, though trembling and undone;
A nation fails when it abandons one.
But here a thousand fade, and still we wait
For justice that is always running late.
So on this day of children, let us weep
For promises that never learned to keep.
For every “leader” now in captive dark,
For every stolen, still-unlighted spark.
And may the shame of this be furnace-hot,
To burn the will of those who see but not.
Lest history write, with tears and bitter pen:
They had no future, and we failed them then.
©TheVillageBoy
(The figure man who loves alphabets)
