Cat-Call Poem by Felix Emeka George

For more than a million times,
I look in askance at myself
Like the eye bats it's lid.
I picture it in askew inert,
In the face of this hardship
Hand's ship on handshake.
Bear witness and scan
through history,
if you doubt or forget.
The landmarks are there,
we are the beginning of the world.
There is no disagreement from yours or ours,
about our time and reign.

We did not engineer slavery.
You left us pocketed in cages.
On gyre, we are dotted in our mouth.
And in hunger
we largely visited death.
Approaching in droves to the vultures,
on running Golgotha trek of death.
We suffered death from cold,
barely given the green grass burial,
many bare bodied men
left for the flies.

From the cocks clarion call,
till the scorching noisome noon,
under the evening sky suffused in crimson.
We are fried like leaves off the trees, in the auspicious sun.
Austere like the black cloud of the sky.
In time and space neglected,
Only the fit survive.

Like moon and sun on sky,
we suffer in a cycle of sufferance,
under a suffer-trance of the deed sovereign,
we suffer even now.
If the apostles of debt peonage; apostates
do not militate against it
in the temples and taverns like scotch.
The smooth irreversible growth of the deed sovereign progresses,
with the world inhabitants in graves.

The train gravitates towards my indigence,
as I am left with a piece of flag as a mottle apperabe.
While they hullabaloo,
Freedom! Freedom! ! Free gone!
Did I hear it clearly? ?
It's a lip Freudian slip!
If not, why are they
on the march of brain drain?
Through the visa lottery.
Awake for sovereignty.......
actuality