When are you coming back home?
Where is your machete and dagger?
Have they all fallen to sleep again?
Have you forgotten us, who we are?
Shall things continue to fall apart?
Igbos are in mess again with their souls!
They have no share again in the land!
When hardship dance in our thatched
heads, we were no longer at ease here;
as hardships erupt we hang our heads.
Is there no more Okonkwo in the land?!
Is there no more a gallant man of Biafra?
Is there no more Chinua’s Okonkwo here
to dry those written pains and sorrow?
We all asked amidst tears that kill soul.
With the arrow of the gods of our ancestors,
we stand to fight and to fight like heroes.
so let love stand between us that defend!
We are nothing more to this land than a
broken plate that they can trampled upon.
Okonkwo, when are you coming home?
When are we fighting the whites again?
Between the anthill of the savannah,
we wait voiceless for your return home!
Okonkwo, there are scars in our hearts.
Our lips may hold our anger to rust daily
but we have a written path upon our palms
that Biafra may not die again but rejects
death and live beyond the orbit of this land.
We’re re-writing the past as we wait on you.
(C) John Vincent Ink
All right Reserved 2016