THIS IS NOT ABOUT FAITH

Bet Naija,

This is where you stake a little piece of hope from the pieces of hope you have left in hope to win more hope,

And the odds are like a beautiful sermon to an empty stomatch,

Its rumbles makes beautiful beats for empty voices,

They only motivate you to stake, 

And the rest is your fault,

They say have faith,

But this is not about faith, my veins are failing me,

They say joy comes in the morning,

And i count my breaths for the night and wave,

Death Naija,

This is where starving men are told to stake the last portion of their bread for more bread,

Where prayer is encouraged for more dead bodies,

But not us, the lucky ones,

That we may have funeral meals,

And atleast a sense of unity, for it is true, misery loves company,

And when one man falls, because his legs can no longer afford the time to take one more step,

He becomes a sermon,

A threat and a motivation for the last drop of emotions,

From those who still wish, strive to live,

And they say, be strong, 

But it is not about strength, there are no lies left to tell at home,

When i stare into the eyes of an anticipating child,

You will understand, when you are the saviour on your second coming with loads of disappointments,

And they say, god's time is the best,

But in what life time does it arrive?

In what tenure and what country,

And what should we say to this dying man,

And they say, do not be blasphemous,

Fight for god like he or she or it fights for you,

And that was when i realised,

That there is no hope left where we stake it,

And those who still have the leverage,

 spend their day trying to learn how to fall asleep, how to dream,

Dream jobs and dream cars, dream audience and,

Dream spouse, dream house, dream life,

And often we wake up with an aching back,

Empty stomatchs, more hunger for dreams,

Desperation for more, for better dreams,

So much that we paint the day,

 In the day time, in our little corners, in our offices or parlours, our homes,

And stay up at night to watch it,

We paint a flying bird, imprison it in a show glass,

And stare when we wish to pretend that we are free,

"EXCERPT"

T.s_Theddy.