FOREWORD: In the fight against terrorism in Nigeria, sometimes, we get so wrapped up in the politics of it, the scourge of Boko Haram and the plight of the victims, that we forget – sometimes – the suffering of those left to mourn the lost souls.
The poem you’re about to read is the aggrieved outpouring of a friend, who lost his brother to the bloody business of the war against Boko Haram. This brother was not a hapless victim of a bombing. He was not abductee. He was a member of the Nigerian Army, who lost his life while fighting to make Nigeria just one more minute safer from the violent acts of insurgency. His name was Lt. Utibe Ekong, and the following is a tribute to him following his death a year ago.
Read and reflect.
Another tear I’d never ever shed
Not a smile I’ll let so wide
The sound of guns
‘Ricochet, ricochet!’ They said it will
I feel it, this pain! I cannot tell
Whose blood is this?
It’s not mine, I know
Promise it’s not mine
It’s stretched beyond the mould of mangled forms
Mix dust and dirt of earth beneath
“Oh! Whose hand is this!” I screamed
I am mixed in the mould of forms beneath
Just a day… Not a gain
I pray with hope this life is gone
These holes, the hole you lie in, I know
They promised it will go away
To join you someday I can but pray.
365 again, and now 1.
Written by Ese Ekong