By ‘Ladeji Popoola
He comes from a remote world.
Sitting perturbedly in his head are burdens.
In his mind seated melange of chaos
And his heart is broken by many a piquant dream of his that have died at infant.
His eyes have seen too much of vivacious light that glow with promising radiant
He had hope it would lead him to greatness
in his vision but those light became quickly dim and dimmer and obscuring.
He comes from the world
Where living should be indubitably
convenient.
Where the roads to one’s destination should not be riddled with potholes and gullies.
He had wished he had not come to live when bandits and Boko Haram
could ransack his village and haul young and old,
the weak and strong into the far-off fateful forest.
He felt despondent. The story of the Kankara school boys still baffled him.
He thought of the Chibok girls that have
lost the trails to their comfort.
He thought of those whose kidnap and death continue to elude the public ears.
He knew his dear life is now more gravely endangered. He sighed heavily.
And reclined into his bed as he wishes himself never to rise again.