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

Popular posts from this blog

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...

''AM A BLACK ANGEL"

By Ola Vincent Omotade I look dark in the outside But deep within my fragile heart, lies a light. "The brightest light that shines so bright" Just as the rainbow in its gloomily, Brightens and beautifies the clouds, After a stormy rain, so I shine in your gloominess I am a black angel yet I brighten your darkest. So I stood every morning causing a radiance to your awesome smile. Even when it seems am unnoticed, I keep making you colourful and accepted. So many decades ago, I was sent to come make you fulfill To come bring you splendor in vendors. My beautiful self have I sold to your love, I live all day radically enraptured  in your world. I am your BLACK ANGEL

ÌGBÀ ÈWE (CHILDHOOD DAYS)

By Teslim Opemipo Let our mothers come like harmattan haze and swear by the sacrality of ògún if the roof lying above their fathers' house has never been stoned by a boy in love to walk them out for an evening talk. Let our fathers come like a windy rain and swear by the simplicity of òsun if the path that leads to the village stream has never danced to serenades sang by their soles in chase of maidens with braids so long. Let the elders come like a mid-year harvest and swear by the tranquility of the moon if they've not once tasted the bliss of childhood fermented with the morals of moonlight tales. In our village, childhood is made of water; kinsmen, remember, water is brewed with life and life is the laughter moulded on our lips when we gambol from rivers to trees and to fields painted in the colours of hopping grasses. Brethren, if you hear an elder saying: growing up kills laughter and joy, do not giggle for they once like us tasted the bliss o...