She sits at Postponement Bus stop
Our Mother of many children and large natural breasts
Her malnourished children crying; frustrated by the conduct
of the conductor
Whose claim is that, Our driver would not start Our Bus
We her troubled children with righteous restless spirits
Demand an explanation
We have threatened to puncture the tyres, break the wind
shields and burn Our Bus
But We know too well it will do us no good
“This is Our Bus, not Our driver’s” We chant in one accord
Our weak mother sits back with sunken eyes and pleads
Her grey hairs on bony head, dangling as though it would
roll off,
No longer fits in her tattered Green Gele
Her skeletal frame, held loosely her wrinkled black-pale
skin,
Covering her shame in her already stained White Buba
Her thin long legs, like Pharaoh’s dream cows, no longer
could carry her
Reaching to her kneels, her Green Iro, attempting to uphold
her honour
Our Mother yet mutters amidst gasping breaths:
“Although this bus would not start
Although this driver would not move Us forward
Although corruption thrives and evil drives with pride
I’ll hold on a little longer, no matter how long
I’m certain, most certain
Our CHANGE will come!”
-
Kayode Michael Melchizedek ©2015
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