Slaves In A Masquerade

Photo Courtesy: India Today (Facebook)

I fell for the girl in the picture

I saw nothing of her features

But the potential of the future

Only she could candidly capture

I fell in love with the message

Written on her fiery face

The little that peeked thru her veil

With the rage in her sway

The way she carried her frame

Within the cage of her pain.

I fell in love with how she braved

A danger so grave

Marching forward she won't cave

In to threat of the Taliban

Because she is a woman

Who has tasted freedom

Because she is a woman

Rousing the eye of the storm

Because she is a woman scorned

And now she raising hell

With her cardboard upheld

Her future none may readily tell

Cause terrorists trade

Modesty for slaves in a masquerade

Her march on Kabul is beauty

Raiding the belly of the beast

Her presence on the streets

Without male escort service

Is an article of taboo

Yet she calls that bull

She'll march to turn the rule

She'll march until they shoot

Her down

And her blood cries out

From the ground

And her voice rains like clouds

That's why I fell for her

And why my pen bleeds for her.

Akpan

Undamaged

Lookit all the damage you caused,
You and your band of murderous thugs,
Ever wondered what these could cost?
Guess y'all too busy chucking bombs
To give a damn about lives lost.

You must know we shall not be moved.

Y'all like boys with toys bringing noise;
We rejoice by choice raising our voice.
We are firmly planted like rocks
And we will stand cause we will last
Long after you're stuck in the past.

You must know we shall not be moved.

Akpan

The Assassination of X

Sometime in January, Boko Haram terrorists razed a town in
North East, Nigeria killing a 'woman in labor.' In the words of a
witness, “Half of the baby boy (was) out and she died like this.”
This poem is for the unnamed boy who I called 'X.'

And who hears when we call and comes running?

Who waits up for us and keeps the lamp burning

To show the path home when twilight is dawning?

Who reaches out when we face a chasm yawning?

And swoops us up just before we keel over falling

To our deaths in a fissure that is always gnawing?

The value of x is, for all practical purposes, unresolved;

He’ll for all time be a mystery because he died unnamed,

His spot is uninhabited for he never set foot on this sod.

The death of x is, beyond all reasonable doubt, a shame;

Not he or his Mama deserved that baptism in cold blood,

No one will ever know what x was cut out for or his gain.

The tale of x is, contrary to common belief, an ill weapon

To bludgeon the foe cause he died before he came thence,

We can turn pain to gain and make them pay for our loss.

The value of our x they must be made to feel, is priceless.

Akpan

Switched

For all those years I thought the Boko Haram insurgency was
an extended spell of the infamous Northern Nigeria riots

Incomplete, that’s the definition of me without a you

It’s taken me a while but the blinders are down it’s true.

I’ve seen my wrong I know I’ve been such a fool not to.

Unfeeling had me like and I said, ‘It’ll pass.’ That’s cruel.

Why do I visualize paradise but get paralyzed

By the sight of you otherwise immortalized?

I’ll rime till it’s sunrise n’ your night turns brite,

Time I switched sides, be a bona fide paradigm.

‘A few more days,’ I said, ‘and it’ll be gone with the wind.’

While you died in plain sight I let fear lax my heartstrings,

But time taught me not to wait for what tomorrow brings;

I am what brings tomorrow so I rise on a dayspring scream.

Why do I visualize paradise but get paralyzed

By the sight of you otherwise immortalized?

I’ll rime till it’s sunrise n’ your night turns brite,

Time I switched sides, be a bona fide paradigm.

Akpan

WWNF

WWNF is ab for We Will Never Forget. If the on-going negotiations with
the Boko Haram terrorists means the Nigerian Govt. is just gonna let them
walk after all the deaths and sorrow they brought on school kids...
Justice is indeed blind.

Wanta negotiate but forgot the children you torched

I betcha talkin’ ‘bout how ta regain yo freedom,

I betcha forgot the scores of times you played God,

Tossing bombs and pumping slugs all up the north;

Wasting gobs of young dreams in the name of religion,

Now you feel ya’ll just gon’ turn around and spill yo

Guts and make demands? But justice is a loaded gun

On a hair trigger and its cartridge is full of lethal slugs.

The lives you destroyed rise to judge you n’ yo cohorts.

A million wasted dreams signed your eternal damnation.

The only pardon you truly deserve is hell’s own option.

Ya’ll aint gatto make demands why don’t you just pop off.

We will never forget how they died the death of a dog.

We will never forget the fatal aftermath of Postikum.

We will never forget that the earth sucked up their blood

Because you strewn their cadavers in the streets to rot.

We will never forget the camp where ya’ll tripped a bomb,

Because even when they was displaced it wasn’t enough

Until they was wasted and their names wiped off this world;

We will never forget the abductions and forced wedlock.

We will never forget the unborn burnt alive in the womb

Because you fools weren’t man enough to restrain your lust.

We will never forget the schools turned factory for bombs

We will never forgive nor forget until justice has run its course.

You will get what you so richly deserve.

Hear me Boko Haram: judgment is served.

Akpan

T-Concubine

BINTA IBRAHIM
16 year old multiple rape victim with an unidentified child she rescued.

To the 214 rescued pregnant girls so-called “Terrorist’ Concubines.”

Warning to the Reader: Here there be Foul Language.

It's not my fault that I am the way that I am.

So don't judge me if you ain't been up the shit creek I had to paddle.

My sister, I ain't reserve no respect for none of ya'll that don't understand

I suggest you stand back and watch me wriggle thru the eye of this needle.

It's not my fault that I seek solace in your embrace;

That I look up and out and into your face dying for a touch of grace.

Just that your stigma keeps trespassing with the affairs of your mouth.

But I'm here to stay brother, deal with it or haul it down south.

It's not my fault misery selected me over you.

If I did bust that joint has it not crossed your mind ama thrive on your attitude?

When ya'll was all wrapped up in the warmth of fam., I was stolen and abused

You just like them to downtalk but I stand strong and refuse to be reduced.

It's not my fault that those mad dogs threw themselves at me;

So how come ya'll hating on me like I was some colossal freak?

Ya'll should be throwing a party, celebrating the fact that I'm free.

But I am not your expectation and I will survive and bring some style into it.

It's not my fault that I am the way that I am.

It's not my fault that I seek solace in your embrace.

It's not my fault that misery selected me over your brass

So am I asking too much cause I expect some respect for my pain?

Akpan

Soulja Story

A soulja battling Boko Haram who is also fighting his personal
demons writes his daughter about his personal struggles.

Dear Daughter,

This is not Father.

Tell you what; this war's been one tough nut to crack;

If we fight the enemy we shall hit our brothers.

There's no telling who got dragged into this joint;

Or who got paid to settle for a human bomb.

I've had nightmares where I woke up totally drenched;

Victory has never before tethered on a more slippery edge.

Who willingly yields up a daughter?

Then turns around and cries, Murder! Murder!

Who can spot the color of truth, color of a lie?

Who discerns a foe just by looking 'em in the eye?

Sometimes, I feel this is a struggle in vain.

I assume it sounds lame and probably is insane.

But can I be positive I ain't sticking out my neck for a traitor?

Can I state with certainty there ain’t secret mass burial sites?

They wear our faces and speak our tongue.

They sniff out the nitty-gritty of our minds.

If I sound a bit off the wall maybe I am.

But when we get down to brass tacks it’s Nigerians offing Nigerians.

Things are never what they seem behind enemy lines,

In this place I wage war and for same I lay down my life.

Dear Daughter,

This is Father.

Akpan

7 Day Theory

The earth was created in six days. Nigeria's war against
 terrorism entered its sixth year in 2015. It ends NOW.
2016 is our 7th day and there we will find our rest. It starts NOW.

There’s so much to live for why can’t we start living it now?

Straddle love and courage and faith; turn again our captivity;

Prepare a way and haul in peace like a river that abounds.

This is the year we initiate our miracle metamorphosis.

Lethal explosions have ripped us till we despaired for hope,

The three-fold cord of unity’s been strained to snapping point.

These six odd years we’ve been coerced to walk a tightrope,

Still we rise to every challenge and keep on believing in love.

For six years, we put our backs to the grind;

We sang of freedom and put our hopes on the line.

We got just one more ‘day’ then we rest from this tragedy,

And set the tone for our very own seven-day theory.

Akpan

Cellphone Conversation

This is a fictional phone conversation with the maniac Shekau She-Cow, written in verse. Let’s pretend the evil genius speaks any vocabularies besides Bang-Bang! Boom-Boom! His words are in BOLD type.

Am I speaking with She-Cow?

This is Shekau...

Alhaji Abubakar Shekau

Whatever, Shay COW.

So, what's all the rage?

I said this time and again;

My mission is to cut ‘Western’ culture off this nation.

Isn't that why you're on the internet... to spread the message?

Well, yeah, I needed a medium of expression...

And a ‘Western’ medium seemed most appropriate?

That about sums it up.

That's the kind of attitude that gets people bombed.

Is that a threat?

Because I missed the part where I get scared.

I just want to tell my side of the story and be heard...

Well She-Cow, your side of the story sucks...

I blow up school kids for a holy cause...

Is that a synonym for ‘masochistic lunatic?’

You wouldn't know a thing about my cause

So I suggest you don't insult.

Are we discussing that Devil Theory which warps minds, makes

Men strap explosives all around their waists and make

Waste of everything that breathes within a 10-block radius?

My motives are strictly religious...

Sheez, you got it all sorted out, genius.

Why don’t you tell that to the dead school kids.

You're so full of shit...

Or maybe, your time is up...

This war will not be over until I've bombed you all...

Is that the stink of your corpse I smell as it rots?

That's all empty talk. And you know it.

It's over. Can you not feel...

Ha! Ha! I don't see your armed forces

Putting one dent in my offensive.

It's got nothing to do with sophisticated weapons;

We won because your toys couldn't split a great nation.

How much longer, do you reckon, would that remain reality...?

Listen hard. Don’t you hear the exploding silence of your bombs?

You should feel damn lucky you live down south....

And you really ought to make your last moments on earth count,

Start putting what's left of your household in order, militarized tout.

Because we will hunt you like vermin and we will stamp you out.

You got big mouth...

You’re living on borrowed time, traitor. I'm out.

Akpan

Postikum

I'm just a face in the crowd.

But I see friendships that might have been;

Smiles that would’ve smoothed out the crease on my brow.

I ease my mind into fickle wishful thinking

And let it wander where human dignity still holds a charm.

And right there, at the center of all radiance is us;

Just us two, bragging and shoving and fearing no harm.

Then reality crashes in like foam-tipped breakers on the shore;

I hear your screams rise from within a fiery grave.

I hear you yell out my name but I am M.I.A.

I see you grope with burning rage for aid that never came;

I feel the deathly heat as your lungs burst, from a distant place.

The terror gnaws at my heart and threatens to rip it out.

You thought I had your back but I'm the one who let you down.

You thrust out charred limbs and clawed at the empty air

What I had to do was grab your hand but I was not there.

I see dead people strewn like waste disposed of at a landfill;

I see young destinies six feet deep in a grave of dreams.

So I scribbled a line to you in that place I cannot yet come,

A monument of words flung up through the voice of one.

I'm just a face in the crowd.

If I’m dead to you it’s because you’re out cold;

If you’re dead to me I should hang with Shekau

How I remember you molds how my story unfolds.

Akpan

Season of Sacrifice

And I know where my happiness lies;

My salvation unfolds before my eyes.

I anticipate feverishly, the morning of evil's demise

Thus my pen shall never run dry until it is realized,

Until I obtain true justification for this sacrifice.

Devastated and cornered though they may be,

Our outcome is tied to their outcome by destiny’s strings.

Our survival is as slim as the vapor of their dying breath.

If we forget them, who we are perishes in their death.

Cause the tragedy is not to die but to be wasted.

Daily, the fate of thousands arrive upon a nightmare,

Spun out like the thread of a graphic horror story.

Day and night their pastime is a game called terror and fear.

Our organs rot and decay and all we do is drag our feet;

They live on the edge of death, blinded by tears.

“The summer has passed

The harvest has ended

But we are not saved.”

Akpan