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Read this short story titled Forsaken by John Chizoba Vincent

FORSAKEN
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After going through your profile and reading the history without pages, how you were giving birth to, how the white men invaded into your privacy in the nineties, I came to the conclusion that you have been braver than any other mother I have ever known in life. The mistake is not from you but it was  your fault that we are here with bleeding lips. The choice was yours then to make, you could have make that decision then, you should have  rejected their offer to join the three regions together. You should have told them that the Eastern zone are meant to be alone not with the beholders of dagger, you should have told Lugard that the west have grown enough to stand on their own. Why allow them to join us together? Didn't they see how different we were before they came?  Of a conscious and truth, of luxuries and faith, of grace and faithfulness, of conscious and empathy; of consciousness and upliftment; of consciousness of understanding, you made us who we are; forsaken. we made the gain of an ageless smile longing on your mouth ever since the thousand roses are planted for your sake. Mother Nigeria, in the absence of your gut, no one stands in the abode of Africa.
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Father said he was at your feet before he died. He told me how your breast milk fed so many soldiers among all. You were a true mother whose castle demonstrate peace among the abyss of evil. He died serving at your feet until sorrow was birthed. Power became the ultimate goal of your children, the oil they found on the ground caused the madness and they abandoned the forest for the liquor of lust dragging their feet with the currency made for all sultry. Another move of undiluted guts got us into this mess of priceless generatuon. Mother told me she decorated those sculptures at Ibadan and Benin in the past ages, when I was younger. She kept under ears joining different borders of different placenta. Although we are humans of breast milk and are not meant to point accusation hands on others but I will say you are the architecture of your own problem; for butter are not meant for monkeys. Hear me Mother, you caused this pains we are passing through. You made us to start tracing a lost identity which have been forsaken for long period of time. How i wish we could understand the striving spirit of the naija, tears could have been the order of the day. We were joined, forsaken and abandoned in the black race.
I have been brave, too brave to see you come back to life again, but the old men you carry on your head still hurt the youthful sun on us. i have been to others shores in Africa and the World and I shaded tears of lost of what you have done to yourself.
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Your soldiers are languishing in the forest of death. Hunger are killing them there. The forest are now their home day and night. Let me tell you, you made that misatke, yet some are been sent to be trained in a foreign land for nothing.
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When yesterday you stood like a lioness of the west, no one dare challenge your authority but you allowed those animals into your bosom. You allowed them to take those things which would sustain us when tomorrow comes. We moved uprightly but our minds are dirty and callous. You allowed them into the land. I will accuse you of it mother Nigeria. Why should you of all people? They joined us together, give those cows power over us knowing well that we are not cattle who follows in one direction. You knew that mother, they knew that. I won't praise you this time Mother! You made us all insane, insane of corruption; insane of a faithless fate. Where do we go from here mother? Look at your children scattered here and there, hungry and voiceless they are. The street is empty, nothing is found there. No rain again in the land. All in confusion including the President you appointed to us as a ruler. Mother, you have failed us!  Your coasts are shattered and dreams lost.
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Mother Nigeria, after going through the tough time of bleeding through my nose to make an ends meet, I came to a conclusion that you actually made bed for the absence of our longing hearts. You care not of our agony, you care not even if we are going to fall, you care not even if we are to die. I am ready to poke my dirty finger into your eyes. For the names of the girls who have stretched for you, for the agony of those women who have abandoned their children because of hunger, for the mourner's songs dissolving in the mouth of the men; we are not happy that you left us naked to perish. The old man you put there is making things difficult for us, he has chosen to tell us his name than to lead us. The ministers all dancing to his tone.
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Yesterday, my people danced because of a criminal that was released from a London prison. Jungle justices lynched on poor men while the Rich are given the freedom to loot our pride. Your children are in war with themselves, Nigerians are in war with themselves but peace be still we will over come this tempest when this land is receded. When the North go on their own, the East to their land, the west to a separate world and the South to another phase because we are not from the same blood, we are not meant to be together, we are the snakes in forest roaming separately without anything to unite us.
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Mother did you hear me, we have different fathers that you opened your legs to. So separate us to move on without nagging lips sipping righteously on the sins of our fathers.
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©John Chizoba Vincent

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NIGHT SYMPHONIES.
For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
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and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

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like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
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