Down But Standing Poem by Chris Jibero

Who needs a man on the floor
dry, dusty and dirty
like the very rusty
corrugated iron sheet
roof tops of ancient
Benin buildings spread
on endowed and enchanting
Edo landscape as the gory
decomposing bodies of the
great Ologbosere's army
overrun by ripping rapacious
reapers posing as harbingers
of civilisation

oh! those sheets that once
shimmered, great cause
for thanksgivings and communal feasts
where licit and illicit drinks
smoothly flowed down salivating mouths
like flood descending Ikpoba hill
majestically as a dashing suitor prince
to marry the river's gorgeous princess

Who needs a man sprawled on the floor
with sand adorning his head
as a garland of dishonour
for a race well begun
but tripped over by waves and rapids
of seasons and times poised and brave
like timid Toronto thieves

Who needs a man down
with head badly bruised and battered
who is now considered a giddy bum
in a now-world
that has decapitated all good
Samaritans for depleting the foot-mats
of ostentatious overlords

Who needs a man down and faint
not his family, not his friends
scatterd all over the buccaneers'
dens in a quest for reparation
for their communal stolen treasures
but have shut their avaricious eyes
like stubborn security doors
to their patriarch's beckoning hands
to explore mother's fertile breasts
and not even his hitherto better half
dwelling daily on his beneficent bosom
who has crowned herself a querulous
queen that despises all things
down and flabby

Who needs a man down
but another man down
whose coupling helping hands
have gripped each other's
like one loaded goods wagon with another
leaving no vacuum for any fresh devourer
for in their heads lie the arsenal
to stand up and stand firm
for success and honour.

(c) Chris Jibero.2008.