Yes, I may be a juvenile,
I may be oddly tempered
and quite naïve,
maybe my bank of wisdom is bankrupt
and my eye of foresight is blind.
O yes! I may foolishly choose a haunted path
that makes the courage of
the deadliest demons bleed,
in fact, I even dare to swim
in the waters that drown fishes.
All right, we all know I am lost
in a land of fantasies
that will never be kissed to life by fruition
and I waste my agile years
chasing the ever-elusive sun.
I was not yet a foetus
when the arrows of the Ojukwu-led Igbos
hit the explosive shields of the Hausas,
leading to the peril of countless soul
in the ghost land of pardoned arsons.
I admit my virgin tongue
is still to taste the sweet-sour
wine of responsibility
on the ego-pampering throne
of democratic power.
I know I am not the supple Youth
you sincerely wished for,
what if I am not ready to follow
the worn-out rules of yester-decades
that time has made anachronistic?
But angel or devil, I am
the inevitable future to come,
so write me off not so soon
for the Youth is not a lost cause
that should be cast away,
and in the midst of my babble,
if you listen closely enough
with military attention,
your ears might just catch a glimpse
of the unwavering voice of hope.
Red Priest
