My Arena: Where is the Justice (Spoken Word)

I am a Wordsmith.
I live in an era of camouflage won by men who are dangerously armed, but who need hugs
Teachers who are paid less for what it costs them to be heard,
And workers who work but only the Ogas at the top decides whether to pay the wages, peg the websites or wave the workplace.
Students learn like rivers, flowing to places, exciting and new, without asking; why is the river flowing, so quickly pass me?
Turning into red seas of unemployed and unemployable graduates,
romancing and calling on elders who spell politics as leak-pockets,
While we walk on roads of graveyards, that has become industries manufacturing dead bodies,
with expensive pure water in the land of abundant undrinkable waters.
With large oil and minerals abundantly deposited in our grounds left obsolete,
yet scarcity stares us in our faces from time to time with ugly high prices to pay.
But to have orphans, who's fathers are still alive, is to dramatize a shameful condition.
Where then is 'to serve our fathers land' a pledge of honour?

With NEPA constantly changing to PHCN to EDC and who knows next, chasing us with wired cutlasses of poor service hours full if bills,
and if cutting calls by Network services.
Yet, e bi like say the want to tell us another story again o, bros see change.
All I observe is that they don't really care about us.
All they really want to do is to keep on cutting us and cutting us, cutting us from Light, cutting us from Network calls,
trying to cut our necks in the works that cuts our wages in taxes and bills.
Because they think that the money gives them the power,
while the masses are mashed in the mist of sufferings.
Where is the Justice now?

My Arena is a dwelling ground turned into a battle ground, fenced with imaginary bars of barbed wire,
and surrounded by armed tigers and lions on the each sides, targeting who to devour.

I am a Wordsmith, but have to listen to my brothers that had turned into illegal soldiers in the territory that owns them.
Do not deceive me by your religion, Boko brokering the hearts and Haram harming human heads.
But convince me by your humanity, and bring back our girls,
by broadening your hearts with brotherly love.
But, if you say you are not my brother, then live and let's live.

Where is the Justice, when at young age we have capitalized,
because we believe that capitalism raises you,
but still you have to step on someone else's toes,
or eliminate them to get to the top?

Where is the Justice when one group is taught to lead, and the other is made to follow?
No wonder so many of my people spill brass for spillover because the truth is hard to swallow.
The need for degrees has left many of people frozen,
where the joy of a degree is no longer a guarantee for a job,
and the need for money has made amnesty occupation - lucrative.

We want to occupy the Arena, but they have already occupied our brains.
Where is the justice

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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