Considering the parable of the talents, Read by men in the scroll of new testament...
An eve in her prime looks pulchritudinous,
Thus, it births a hydra -
Munched on every mortal lips!
"Lo, a land is green", men chant in rhetoric of its
Albeit, beyond their flowery certifications,
Lies the apt enigma, shrouding their yawning avarice
For the opulent endowments on the green shore.
Perhaps, these blessings have attracted but
Not plowers, who infest the land as inhabitants.
Now, the green beams as iconic irony,
Considering the parable of the talents,
Read by men in the scroll of new testament...
For I know of a trifling segment of this cosmos,
Endowed with a few, perhaps one or two;
Yet actualized a complacent development.
Unlike this thwarted holism of the green milieu
Which has clutched unto abundance of wealth.
Yesterday, oil sprung from the desert-crust of Dubia;
Today, heaven winks on the once desert,
For it has metamorphosed into an earthly paradise.
Same liquor of affluence oozes from the green wells,
Hence, it rushes like volcanic eruption to doom our
As the juvenile hearts with bloated rebellious heads,
Clutched unto weapons, far from toys -
Seeking for magical dividends!
Even our elders hath boycotted their native crafts,
I see rusty farm implements: they've gone on long
Why? Our myopic drivers guided by unethical minds,
Has lost good stewardship of the copious investments
On the land, entrusted in their hands.
Etched faces of our heroes on our value-dwindling
papers; prostrating before those of foreign lands.
And the green's pulchritudinous countenance
Is now defiled with despondence...
Now, I see the taunting eyes of dawn's stare,
Mocking moribund of our days of grace.
Ah! Barrel of the liquor that intoxicated our minds,
Is now tagged around the globe with reward of a
At this, I take a reminisce to my one time dream,
Where from a hilltop faraway, reverberated a voice
Of one despondent prophet amidst us:
"May this oil well of the green land dry up!" He
Being plunged in such alienated world, I was ignorant
Now, I can decipher via its repercussion!
I hope we trace back to our true blueprint of yore
So that our long sleeping giant in futility
May awake from the green dust of besmirched
Too cozy for our indolence, trammeling our full
Perhaps our deliverance is now from the cursed
Olajuwon Joseph Olumide is a 200-level (ND2) student of Mass communication, School of Liberal Studies, Yaba College of Technology, Yaba, Lagos State.