Southern Voices 2 Poem by segun Johnson Ozique

The Third world land:
Where pains in a plate of soup is pleasure
Where death is celebrated in robes of birth
Where vagabonds and vagrants find home
Where convicts adjudicates in courts

The third world voice;
A voice once proud and majestic,
A voice once vibrant, lively and witty
A sweet voice to many, a gem doubly blessed
Now laid to waste; repressed, coarse, white-washed

The third world people:
A People afraid of their civilian cloaked generals
Terrified of the very people they helped up
Relegated to scavenging to make ends meet
A people without morning, no day; just nights

The Third world leadership
The bane of the land; easily spotted, by their symbolisms;
Deeply lined pockets, conveyed in armoured trucks and led by sirens
Backed by peak caps, firearms, ambulances and bomb squared
Always half asleep and hypnotically awake