OUR FATHER IS NOT A MAN by Veralyn Chinenye

We had played in this garden,
till you rode in like a prodigal
Your beast had burdened our faces with sharp blades
The broken lines ran across our faces with disgust
We will not seal our drums with undiluted honey
The cock has crowed in the morning,
we are scarcely awake and have risen up
We drum a dirge, mourning from dusk to dawn

What father takes shield and leaves the children drenched in the heavy rain and bitter cold
Licks the pap and gives the empty bowl to the children
Gathers his loins and flees when there is a fire
And camps steadily at the enemy's roof

What father would demand our emaciated bones a sport for his delight
Make our hearts his railway
Forge deaf ears to our anguish
Turns stone dead to his inflicted and set his seeds ablaze while they rest

What father will fill our bellies with toxic fertilisers
Watch us make a dance for the whirl wind
And grind our seeds into powdery
The eyes of the dog is watery having borne patiently strange stupefying sights
The buck stops here:

We will be the prick in your pillow giving you unrest
We will not withhold the swords in our drums from piercing at your ears
We refuse to sign to any agreement
Our inheritance hidden with your cold smile reserved for your loot
You raise to God's lips, a cup filled with the sap of our blood
Making it up with broken oratory
The slaughter awaits our footsteps, as we eat with hasty mouths

You are a maize stalk that carries no children on its back
The poisoned needle on which we nail our lives
A shadow without form extinguished by sunlight
The bread loser
The gory of manhood
The foot of the home
You are not a man
You are not our father


Veralyn Chinenye is a Poet and a Writer at Sprinklestoriez