Heroes Are Not Born In Our Days Poem by Abel John

Eh! The mouldy walls that bore
our fences have stripped us
naked.
Those with swollen chest that
often defend us are no more;
The children of 'Agbete' that
daren't look us in the face have
come out as men.
Who'd wear the battle shoes of
our fathers
And take the horse by the bridle?
Who'd continue the good fight
when Mandela pass through a
riddle?
The rod, with which 'Menosa'
chastened us, is lying idle.
Heroes are not born in our days!
Who's he that's to go to the
great beyond?
When you get there, pray our
heroes past to be patient with
us.
Tell them that their footprint is
washing away;
Their handwriting fading so
quickly;
That no youngman wants to pay
the price for anything.
Don't forget to tell the great
mothers
That the household of mothers is
now the household of murders;
No easy passage for the heroes
unborn.
Heroes are not born in our days!
And should you be given a green
pass, ensure you pay homage to
the black inventors.
Tell them that the path they
paved for invention is long lost;
No one with the cold feet to
trend it.
Even the self-governance, for
which they ran out their blood,
Now an instrument for self-
fulfilments.
The sons of 'Semawo' that
couldn't climb even to the middle
of the tall 'ugwo' tree, while
others at the top,
Now walk the streets with
sceptres.
No prophet to tell what
tomorrow would bear;
Cause heroes are not born in our days!