Soon, we shall witness
the bleaching of the rainbow,
perhaps the bittering of hopes
by pregnant, yet barren enigmas,
that seek the brew of our tomorrow, today.
Then, we shall see
scamper over spilt morphines
to nurse the conundrum of their woes. Dutch disease.
Then, dreams shall wear
the shame of sack clothes to
cover the nudity of their sagging breasts.
Then, elders shall break kola nuts
to behold the molars of maggots
feasting on the endocarp of decorum.
Wirra! We shall cry for peace
but it shall be scarce like perpetuity.
Call me a prophet of doom
Lo! I don’t give a damn.
– Ajise Vincent