By Gloria Okemuo
It’s 2018…
Did I regain my memory?
Um, where did we stop…
Even the pink tulip deserted, or should I say withered?
And to think we nearly planted it in your garden
Or would it have ‘blossomed’
Oh uh, do you remember the one we talked about
On the way to Lagos to buy mourning fabrics for mama’s funeral
Just by that Apapa roundabout, yeah by Pauly’s Mall
And you wondered how the black dove twisted the mind of the squabs
Now, did it eventually manifest…?
Yeah I know you know even though you’re not here physically
They say you are dead, but God and I know you are alive, don’t we?
And the fact that there’s no emporium named after you doesn’t matter
Well, it matters to your death, but not to your life, yea, you’re living
And the one who named you in your mother’s womb never forgets a name
He alone keeps a man’s name, and (you’ll take this seriously), a woman’s name too
Huh?
I won’t say keep it to yourself if you misunderstand me
But you know I am an orphan, and biblically God forbids anyone to find me wrong
Or they’ll be punished! May His love embrace you instead!
I think about justice, and I know you can’t forget I do, not even in your new life
You won’t forget the old life, even though it has passed away
So, the police at Benin express road on that day we travelled from home
It was a journey back to Lagos and you were feverish
The number on your engine, not the same as on your paper, they say
Bouts of persuasion failed, and here we are at the station
Did I not loose my patience?
There you go laughing now, but then you were too weak to laugh
You were ill, and my mouth soon spewed everything my young mind knew about justice
From hindsight I wasn’t alluding to the law
I was alluding to the sympathy required by your vulnerability
But it came with the weight of force in my frustration
And Pharaoh did let my people go
Did you say what about your vulnerability now?
I reason with you, but who else does, or will?
Because God and I know you are alive, doesn’t mean everyone knows
You are dead, that’s the popular belief! Have you forgotten?
But I do know what you mean – justice
You want me to ask people: “if you can’t do justice for the dead, how can you do justice for the living”?
Can you read that again? Can’t you see it means I’ll also say you’re dead?
And doesn’t it also mean I’ll be saying that what I witnessed was justice?
Is it? Justice is not forged! And a forgery may not only be injustice
It may be a crime!
Did you ask about “inheritance discourse without investigation of homicide?”
Um, uh, if you ask me who will I ask?
The law? Avoidable! Obfuscation all the way!
Simply change the story: from the blood spilled on the streets to one flowing in a body
I see you’ve forgotten how they organised against Jesus for saying the truth
With Trump-ed up charges an “Hosanna crowd’ can sing “crucify her”
Now you come back with “Jesus kept mute to fulfil what was written”
It is called silence! How about the one not silenced keeping silent?
For He’ll once again fulfil what was written
He is your justice, vengeance is His, everyone’s recompense He’s got
He will shine His light in every dark place
He will make it all beautiful in His time! Before I leave here
Next of Kin – your blood, my blood – our blood?
No, the blood of Jesus – yes Victory!
Sorry I left the investigation question to non-next of kins
And property Trump-ed in Nigeria – not in Trump’s America?
Did you say wait?
The book? What book? The Bible?
Oh, the Black Dove? I haven’t forgotten, how can I?
What do you mean I have everyone’s medicine?
Surely I am not a nurse or a pharmacist?
May be you can say I have everyone’s history?
You took me to Unilag on many occasions
My ink can run on ‘his-tory and on ‘her-story’ too
But medicine? I can’t give those injections better than you and the angels
Warrior here, Warrior there, along along with Michael!
But you point the injection down to the ground – heat!
Huh?
I don’t know about DNA please, since you are safe, let’s mind our business
Chinasa….
Till death … No, you’re alive!
In thoughts, In memory…
It’s 2018…
Did I regain my memory?
Um, where did we stop…
Even the pink tulip deserted, or should I say withered?
And to think we nearly planted it in your garden
Or would it have ‘blossomed’
Oh uh, do you remember the one we talked about
On the way to Lagos to buy mourning fabrics for mama’s funeral
Just by that Apapa round about, yeah by Pauly’s mall
And you wondered how the black dove twisted the mind of the squabs
Now, did it eventually manifest…?
Yeah I know you know even though you’re not here physically
They say you are dead, but God and I know you are alive, don’t we?
And the fact that there’s no emporium named after you doesn’t matter
Well, it matters to your death, but not to your life, yea, you’re living
And the one who named you in your mother’s womb never forgets a name
He alone keeps a man’s name, and (you’ll take this seriously), a woman’s name too
Huh?
I won’t say keep it to yourself if you misunderstand me
But you know I am an orphan, and biblically God forbids anyone to find me wrong
Or they’ll be punished! May His love embrace you instead!
I think about justice, and I know you can’t forget I do, not even in your new life
You won’t forget the old life, even though it has passed away
So, the police at Benin express road on that day we travelled from home
It was a journey back to Lagos and you were feverish
The number on your engine, not the same as on your paper, they say
Bouts of persuasion failed, and here we are at the station
Did I not lose my patience?
There you go laughing now, but then you were too weak to laugh
You were ill, and my mouth soon spewed everything my young mind knew about justice
From hindsight I wasn’t alluding to the law
I was alluding to the sympathy required by your vulnerability
But it came with the weight of force in my frustration
And Pharaoh did let my people go
Did you say what about your vulnerability now?
I reason with you, but who else does, or will?
Because God and I know you are alive, doesn’t mean everyone knows
You are dead, that’s the popular belief! Have you forgotten?
But I do know what you mean – justice
You want me to ask people: “if you can’t do justice for the dead, how can you do justice for the living”?
Can you read that again? Can’t you see it means I’ll also say you’re dead?
And doesn’t it also mean I’ll be saying that what I witnessed was justice?
Is it? Justice is not forged! And a forgery may not only be injustice
It may be a crime!
Did you ask about “inheritance discourse without investigation of homicide?”
Um, uh, if you ask me who will I ask?
The law? Avoidable! Obfuscation all the way!
Simply change the story: from the blood spilled on the streets to one flowing in a body
I see you’ve forgotten how they organised against Jesus for saying the truth
With Trump-ed up charges an “Hosanna crowd’ can sing “crucify her”
Now you come back with “Jesus kept mute to fulfil what was written”
It is called silence! How about the one not silenced keeping silent?
For He’ll once again fulfil what was written
He is your justice, vengeance is His, everyone’s recompense He’s got
He will shine His light in every dark place
He will make it all beautiful in His time! Before I leave here
Next of Kin – your blood, my blood – our blood?
No, the blood of Jesus – yes Victory!
Sorry I left the investigation question to non-next of kins
And property Trump-ed in Nigeria – not in Trump’s America?
Did you say wait?
The book? What book? The Bible?
Oh, the Black Dove? I haven’t forgotten, how can I?
What do you mean I have everyone’s medicine?
Surely I am not a nurse or a pharmacist?
May be you can say I have everyone’s history?
You took me to Unilag on many occasions
My ink can run on ‘his-tory’ and on ‘her-story’ too
But medicine? I can’t give those injections better than you and the angels
Warrior here, Warrior there, along along with Michael!
But you point the injection down to the ground – heat!
Huh?
I don’t know about DNA please, since you are safe, let’s mind our business
Chinasa….
Till death … No, you’re alive!
