My stomach chums

Like a cassava-grating machine

Pounding ... Scrapping ... Burning ...

Scrapping ... Pounding ... Burning ...

Burning... Scrapping ... Pounding ...

My head cracks

At the thought of this age

That choose to dodge good-

            every good is postponed;

            every evil preferred.

I see famished humans groaning aloud,

Screaming and screaming and screaming

Under the tightening noose of hardship

And millstones of hunger.

Yet, amidst this horror

Of throats stiffened by daily screams

And sunken eyes bleeding blood,

Even cooked foods are never served

But hidden away in the Masters'

bedrooms

Awaiting a pregnant tomorrow.

Oh!

These embattled eyes I see

Deep in these skulls as dry as stockfish

May not five to witness tomorrow.

Nsukka, 1993