They stole Ojukwu’s body
I saw them make a run for it
Right from Azikiwe’s airport
Masked men who spat on luck
With blood stained flag
They swathe him up
Marching on thirsty soil
Their stomps sound flat
Like phantoms of a platoon.
Hidden in their borrowed boots
Are toes chewed up by leprosy.
Their right to pretend ends
When they chose to play Christ.
But no, they will trespass
To make it look as if it’s about them.
Stop pumping your fist in the air
For only the deceived are defeated
And we are not deceived.
They stole Ojukwu’s body
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I saw them make a run for it
Right from Azikiwe’s airport
Masked men who spat on luck
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With blood stained flag
They swathe him up
Marching on thirsty soil
Their stomps sound flat
Like phantoms of a platoon.
Hidden in their borrowed boots
Are toes chewed up by leprosy.
Their right to pretend ends
When they chose to play Christ.
But no, they will trespass
To make it look as if it’s about them.
Stop pumping your fist in the air
For only the deceived are defeated
And we are not deceived.
They stole Ojukwu’s body
Ojukwu, our own Ojukwu.
Their sigh at yesterday’s screams
Flood their nursery of dreams.
Ojukwu is no ordinary soldier
He pulled the yellow moon
Half way through the bleeding sky,
Beyond the reach of their nets.
He floats over the Aburi grail
Joining the circle that started
When Equiano chronicled the tale.
From Savannah Creek off Georgia
Shrine of Igbo landing
Sprung an interesting narrative
Of the flying Africans.
Churchill’s friends rigged the salad
Tainting the waters of the lower Niger.
Then Ojukwu came
And restored the narrative.
They stole Ojukwu’s body
I listened in on their midnight chants
Nothing in it is inscribed
On the tablet of thorns.
Vultures’ tears evaporate
Before they touch the ground.
They stole Ojukwu’s body
But unknown to them
His sand is not their sand
His ash is not their ash.
They stole Ojukwu’s body
But unknown to them
He had left the body.
We encased his heart in our vault
So there is no stealing him,
Unless their steal us too.
We are not deceived
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