TALES OF A YELLOW SUN
(BOOK 1)
I saw a thousand guns
Numbered like the sand of the seashore
Bowing down slowly
To the half of a yellow sun
Staring at them with gestures
That spoke silent words of praise
In an unbelievable future of hope!
(BOOK 2)
The sunrise spoke to the confederation,
The sunset seemed to sleep in peace
Within the heart of a few future Jews
Who told tales and fables of segmented past
With presentable memories of shredded battle grounds
To new semen’s slowly turning into men
And begged of them to transfer
This vehicle of priceless messages
To their future kind!
(BOOK 3)
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a fate fair and dark,
Carried labels of a suspected authoritarianism,
Painted portraits of an undeniable militarianism!
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a race in peace or part,
Carried labels of a suspected treason
Believed to be pinpointed by the south-south region!
(BOOK 4)
Special tankers barricaded the south
Her boundaries had began to breed wrath,
Wrath that instilled sharp finger nails within its paws,
Wrath that carried a face of deception
Slowly and stealthily increasing in population within a new confederation— The south was an unnoticeable sect!
The south was an invisible threat!
(BOOK 5)
Two years after a confederation was born,
Few months after southern streets were renamed,
The unnoticeable sect
Broke loose with an angered threat!
The invisible threat
Broke loose with a stiffened neck!
The south released the nails within its paws,
She had torn apart a million diamonds
And shredded a thousand barricaded tankers
On the eve of January’s summer
Spearheaded by a new messiah
Dressed in military apparel
And carrying a million stars
Branded on his chest
Side by side!!
(BOOK 6)
On January’s summer mornings,
Uniforms of branded sunrise
Would be seen with listings
Carrying names of chained human rights
Believed to be human-faced carts
From the region of the south
Whose last days may be numbered when death sat!
(BOOK 7)
The messiah of the south
Had been captured,
The smell of his ashes
Hung below the noses
Of his hopeful followers
Whose hopes dangled like pendulum
Never wanting to stop swinging!
(BOOK 8 )
Day after day,
The scent of his ashes
Kept building wrath
In their mundane minds.
Day after day,
They began to dream dreams
Of a future divide!
Day after day,
Feeble frames of these mortal beings
From the south-south began
To re-think their own freedom!
(BOOK 9)
And so,
The hidden rage began to manifest,
Hidden sects began to emerge;
Coups began to ring bells in silence
As the south began to give several shouts
That meant turning her back on the yellow sun!
Coups began to ring bells in silence
As the south began to give several shouts
That meant turning submission to divide!
(BOOK 10)
On February’s morning
When sunrise awoke,
She gazed upon this confederation
With eyes of hidden lamentation
That saw pledges and flags
Thrust to the ground all torn—front and back!
On February’s morning
When sunrise awoke,
The south had began a protest
That carried proposals to secede.
(BOOK 11) [Flashbacks of past 1]
We remember when we
Carried placards of imprinted faces!
We remember when Ojukwu’s voice
Sent chills running down our faces
Up to our feeble spines and arteries!
We remember when Biafra was a baby
With only positive tendencies
And plans for a future prosperity…
That was how our Biafra looked!
That was how our Biafra seemed
Until our boiling hopes that bubbled in pots of a better future Tumbled and spilled hot hopes
Across the grounds of a thousand ethnic groups
Scattered on the black soil of Nigeria!
We remember!
We remember Biafra as a baby!
(BOOK 12) [Flashbacks of past 2]
When our hopes spilled on black soil,
When our dreams appeared as though coming from within,
The north rushed at it in haste,
The north rushed at it and dumped it in a casket
By switching off human lives
That opened crooked mouths to speak Biafra.
We remember!
We remember Biafra as a baby!
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Our earth was painted red
And our sand sipped blood
Till she was satisfied!
Our walls formed the
Panel-beaten bullets lying on east’ ground;
Our East turned a Bermuda
Swallowing a million unknown stars!
Our East waited a while
For Ojukwu’s saving voice;
Our East waited a while
For Ojukwu’s survival boots!
We remember!
We remember Biafra as a baby!