Published September 15th, 2024
by Grace Orobosa
Years of history, clothed in mystery
Tales told of how the past unfold
Living for ages, written in pages
Old but gold.
Sitting under the moonlight
Listening to the sage
With the twinkle of starlights
Wise words disseminate
There is a lot to learn and gain
But the reverse is now the case
The scroll is free for anyone to pick
But they abandon it
The land has hidden treasures
But they don't bother to seek for it
Their fathers possess knowledge, wisdom, and understanding
But it is not their kind of thing
The sap of their mother's breasts still flows
But they don't know.
The ancestors have been forgotten
The scroll of history is burning
Why? Oh! The begotten.
The roots lack water
And the trees will begin to wither
What occurs in the thither?
The pillar they strengthened
Has been left weakened.
The building is about to collapse
Yet they take relapse
Oh, the offspring!
The snake now sings and the bird now slithers
This irony could lead to a catastrophe.
The past has become vague
The scroll is blank
The edges have been inflamed and burning
Slowly and steadily,
It has been triggered.
A people who do not know their identity
Might as well lose it
The history of a primitive civilization
Gradually moving into nihility
Soon to fade, they unknowingly bade
The scroll is burning
And the future is bleak.
About the Poet
Grace Orobosa resides in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria.
Read the poet's biography on Grace Orobosa's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Poetry World #10,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Nigeria Poetry Magazine:
I Am Nigerian, and So What?
by Olufunminiyi Salawu
Nigeria Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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