Today my beloved country turns fifty five.
Most people still wish they weren’t alive.
I understand that, cause they fear for their lives.
They do not want to be part of the ultimate price.
What price am I talking about?
Danger springing everywhere like sprouts.
Calling everyone to CLEAR OUT-
-OF THIS GOD-FORSAKEN LAND we shout.
But this land is still home.
The land where we survive on the rich loam.
The land where we are free to roam.
The land where we listen to tales of the evening gloam.
The land that is filled with hope.
The land where we rather cope,
Than put our heads in the rope.
The land where we need not elope,
To some foreign land to go sell some dope.
Arise compatriots O’ Arise.
Lets obey Nigeria’s call with our rise.
And serve our fatherland likewise.
Because today our beloved country has joined the fifty-fives.
I got tired that I wanted to quit
I was done being her fool
At least, that was how I saw it
I was just her tool
My inner self said it was love
What does her inner self say
Just give him a shove
And his wholeness will give way
I decided to share
A piece of my mind
I thought she could bear
but alas!, she pined
So I grabbed her arms
Looking into her eyes
“I still crave for your charms”
I said, trying to be wise.
Welcome back to the club. 😊
I’m walking down this path alone
This dark path of solitude
It sends chills to my bones
My spine along too
Not that this path was forced on me
I chose it for myself
Sometimes, I feel proud about it
Other times, I feel for myself
Antisocial! Loner! Loser!
People called me
Some even asked my mother
Why is he like this?
Why am I like this?
This question not strange to me at all
As for the answer
It’s still very far from shore
At a very young age of about 6 years, my dad always bought me books to read (mostly kids story books) and then after each book, I must have to write a story or an essay. And in all the books that I read, the stories always started with “Once upon a time …”, so I started my stories with that phrase every time. My mum was always proud of me and my stories but my dad will always criticize saying, “You can do better” or “Be creative!” I started to lose interest in writing stories and eventually I stopped writing.
Some few years later, after getting admission into secondary school, we were given an assignment in English class to write a story of not more than five hundred words. I was really pumped because I thought that my years of writing stories beginning with “Once upon a time” would pay off. So, I wrote a story about the lion and the tortoise and even added some flair to it to make it more funny and interesting. Then, I submitted and waited restlessly for the scores which I had started bragging about. I was sure that I would get an A-grade.
I eventually saw my grade and it was a good one(A-grade), and I was happy but then my teacher commended another person’s story and had him read it out in class – I was jealous and infuriated. Then after the class, I asked him (my friend) to give me his story and what I saw shocked me. His story started like this:
“BOOM!” a banging sound exploded beside me as I was running and jumping over heaps of bodies – dead bodies. Bullets whizzed and buzzed past my ears as I was pacing other people and scaling broken down walls. And then, I felt a sharp sudden sting on my leg as I stumbled and fell – I had been shot. I screamed for help but to no avail, the enemy was already above me. He cocked his gun and pointed it at me as I stared into the black emptiness of the barrel. BANG!! – The last sound I heard as I started falling into nothing. Then, I started to hear faint voices, wake up Peter! Wake up! Are you alright! Blood! Let’s take him to the school clinic! I could hear my best friend’s voice. Then I opened my eyes and saw that my friends were all over me with worried looks on their faces. I asked them what happened and I learnt that I had fallen from the top bunk while I was screaming and rolling in my sleep…..”
After reading that, my mouth was left wide open for some minutes before I closed them. I gave him his book and complimented his story. And since then, a new world opened to me and I started reading new novels and learning new ways of writing stories.
Then, I wrote a story for my dad and when he saw it, he also was amazed and for the first time smiled at me and said “Well done”
I had been blinded by my way of writing stories that I did not see other ways of doing such.