Skip to main content

STOLEN TOMORROW




By Akinlaja Judah
______________________________
Do you know the song....
"Parents listen to your children,
For we are the leaders of tomorrow,
Try to pay our school fees,
And give us, a sound education "

I remember singing it heartily as a child.
I so much savored the lyrics,
Cos it gave me the impression
That I have a part to play in my country's future.
Only to grow and find the scripts has been switched.
No longer leaders, but tools of politics.
School has become a battle of the ignorant.
And education, a mud to wallow in.

Our Parents grew and took the future along,
Leaving us to reminisce on yesterday,
And battle with today.

My green of youth is but a tale of whores.
A politician once said......
"Youths are the future of the Nation"
Another......
"Children are the future generations "
Yet another.....
"This hands can spill blood and remain just. The future is in our hands"
what an irony!

I cry for the Youths,
I weep for the newborns,
I wail for the little ones,
Our chapter has been torn,
Our story rewritten in strange languages.
Our lives stolen,
Our future has become a myth as yesterday.

Hands that embezzled millions, stoned the one who stole water.
Fingers dripping blood, crucified the one who stole cassava flakes to survive,
Mouths whose words has killed hopes, sentenced the one who lied to eat a square meal.

Hypocrites! Liars! Thieves! Robbers! Extorts! Name them.
They have stolen my  future!
And now we grow from today to yesterday.
Nevertheless, my comfort still lies in the lyrics...... " we are the future generations.
We are the leaders of tomorrow "
Cos one day, I'll live.
One day, I'll understand the language of my script
# *penspeaks*#... ✍🏽


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

HER MAJESTY

By Ola Vincent Omotade There was a village named Gini, a town blessed with mineral resources and oil. For a long-time the town had been under the pressure and control of Gbaduze a strong courageous king that ruled with excess superiority and power. A very sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a seed of evildoers, cities where corruption reigned supreme, they forsake the word of the wise and were bent on doing evil, but at the later end Queen Marieke, a woman brought back glory to the land. There lived a king named Gbaduze, a long living wealthy king, dark shinning in complexion, a man of his own very word and power embedded due to influence of the Niger-areas in Okere-aje kingdom. However, when death came calling, he died and the king makers ordered that the Queen to ascend the throne of her late husband and invariably preside over the affairs of the community. On ascension, she rigorously studied the existing relationship between the three major tribes in Gini. Q...
1 comment
Read more

FEBRUARY 27

By Ola Vincent Omotade Aderonke will be my only poem that never ends, For a good woman is but a poem. A genuine poem that comes in blue moon. You are a jewel of purest gold, The smile that never grows old. You are the beauty of the sunset sky, The intricate twinkle of a happy star. You are the keeper of an unborn life, A champion, heroine, a candlelight . You are a budding shoot, evergreen, a colourful sweetness. Your laughter is like the whirlwind of the spirit, it  keeps resounding in the valleys and hills of life and motions. Encircling the hearts of men with magical notions. So now the night of January is past and the day of February is broken Today speaks of this calmness, this brightness,the one you brought. Today carries  messages of heavy words, Words that are pregnant with beauty for you. And with my golden mouth and pen, I wish to celebrate your existence. What joy of a fuller and freer life, have I got if onl...
2 comments
Read more

THE LOVE IN HIS EYES

 – By Hilanzok She breaks down in tears as she sees him. His eyes a shade of light brown surrounded by a shrub of lashes speaks volume of what he has experienced in his life. His face a texture of smooth avocado gleamed through the canvas-skin; coarse to touch, spectacular and perfect to the sight. She doesn’t know how to explain it, but she felt this tug in her heart, she knows this boy has experienced things the eyes would bleed if it sees, and the mouth would be reluctant to voice out. It is evident in the liquidity of his eyes, the expressionless look( like a 21st-century male Monalisa) they bore. His cheekbones chiseled and firm fitted like a glove to his trimmed face. He is beautiful, but suffering and despair loomed in his aura, he didn’t need to say it out, in fact, he didn’t need to say anything. She is satisfied just looking at his face, admiring and accessing the contours of his face. She feels the urge to lean forward and press her lips against his, she wants...
Post a Comment
Read more