WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

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WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

I, A MERE MORTAL MADE OF GRIME

WHO AM I TO EVEN GRUDGE?

CAST STONE ON OTHERS, WHEN THEY DO CRIME

 

I AM BUT A SERVANT OF THE GOD OF ROME

A DEVOUT DISCIPLE OF HIS EMISSARY

I AM BUT A FOLLOWER OF THE HOLY TOME

THOUGH I MAY NOT GRASP IT UTTERLY

 

MY MOTHER SOLD ME OUT IN SLAVERY

TO FOREVER TOIL IN A TERRAIN I KNOW NOT

THOUGH SHE WAS RICHEST IN THE CITY

SIMPLY DEEMED ME A BURDEN TOO MUCH

 

I HAD NEITHER CHOICE NOR SAY

IN WHAT WAS TO AFFECT ME FOREVER

I HATED HER SO MUCH THAT DAY

BUT WHO AM I TO POINT A FINGER?

 

MY BEST FRIEND ONCE SWINDLED ME

BORROWED MY SLIGHT, SMALL, LITTLE PAY

AND THEN SUDDENLY, HE FLEES

NO TIME WAS I EVER AS BETRAYED

 

HE CAME BACK, PLEADED AND I FORGAVE

BUT THEN HE FLED AGAIN, NOW WITH MY WIFE

MY INNERSELF BURNED WITH GREAT RAGE

BUT WHO AM I TO MOAN OR WHINE?

 

 

 

 

DEVOTED IN WORSHIP TO THE MOST-HIGH

I SWIFTLY SOUGHT OUT A NOBLE PRIEST

HE ASSURED ME SUPER-HEAVEN IN THIS LIFE

IF ONLY I SOW ONE-TENTH MY EARNINGS

 

ONE DAY, I SAW MY GOOD PRIEST ON A STEED

TREADING MY PATH, I WAVED THAT HE MAY STOP

ALAS! HE SNUBBED ME, OR SO IT SEEMED

WHO AM I, TO CONDEMN, I AM JUST A SLOB

 

I REMEMBER TOO, ONE POOR, FRAIL GENT

WHO CAME TO MY CABIN TO PRAY

NOT FOR FOOD, BUT MY CONSENT

THAT HE MAY RULE THE WHOLE POPULACE

 

I TRUSTED AND GAVE HIM MY BACKING

THEN, AFTER HE BECAME A REVERED SOVEREIGN

HE LOCKED ME UP FOR STREETBEGGING

BUT HEY, WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN?

 

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

I, A MERE MORTAL MADE OF GRIME

WHO AM I TO EVEN GRUDGE?

CAST STONE ON OTHERS, WHEN THEY DO CRIME

 

NAY! IN SILENCE I SHALL SPEND MY LIFE

IN LACK, I HAVE BEEN; IN LACK, I WILL EVER BE

PERHAPS, I CAN BLAME FATE FOR MY PLIGHT?

DEFINITELY NOT OTHERS, FOR I AM NOT ‘HE’!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE LAST DOSE?

STRIKE NO MORE.

 1…7…0, 1…7…0, what is it again?

I try and try, but all ends in vain

1…7…0, 1…7…0, I can’t seem to remember

Those six little figures… my poor matric number!

 

I am the unfortunate Nigerian student

Hardworking, ambitious, always compliant

I am the bone-eating son of a butcher

Who none cares for a second to look after

 

While busy sipping from the Pierian Spring

The fountain went dry, an event unforeseen

The unions cut short our bid to know

Even ‘IFA’ oracle insisted we must go

Confused and dejected, we packed our bags

Thinking that the next day, we’ll be back

But days turned to weeks, weeks to months

We waited and waited, all came to naught

 

At first, to the union, we showed sympathy

But then, the issue became just too lengthy

No more were some on the fence

To all, the strikers were now in defence

 

Some learnt teaching, bricklaying and carpentry

The rich ones, out of fear, swiftly left the country

Some hurriedly settled down to marry

Some could not endure, that they got heavy

 

Alas! At this time, many were buried

Here and there, you hear a student’s obituary

But no! We did not suffer alone

The great union also lost one of its own

 

Our market women cried enough is enough

A Lagos lawyer said we can’t take it no more

Igbo youths were paid to pressure the union

Vanity upon vanity, we were left in confusion

 

The government issues threats of no pay

When union protests, they chase them away

Go back to work, we have no money

So says the vile and chubby Harvard lady

 

 Promise after promise, offer after offer

Yet the union’s stance stands, it does not falter

Then came Goodluck, like a Deus ex machina

Union got thrilled, and forgot the grounds for fracas

 

Or so we thought…

Sadly, the royal meeting yielded no result

After 13 hours of nocturnal discourse

The season-film just never halts, not even a pause

 

The media mediated,

Sending us neither here nor there

Even a silly fella under @ASUU_Nigeria

Misled much through his twitter gear

 

The game is no longer interesting

The movie, no longer amusing

The union has lost its radiance

The students are no longer concerned

 

The government again issues threats

We will sack you all, they declare

Pro-Chancellors too did speak

Resume in a week or forever have your break

 

When all hope seemed buried and lost

The authorities agreed to pay somewhat

The union knew it the best they can muster

And to all’s joy, re-opened the Ivory Tower

 

When two mighty whales brawl

It is the planktons that really hurt

The strikers have gone on another repose

But I ask, is it a stop? Have we had the last dose?

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