In antebellum Nigeria,
we say "hands up"
the unsuspected guilty and the yet to be admitted guilty
since when did raised fingers speak puny and guilty
since when did the voice of silence parley with the dance of defeat?
they said he wasn't wearing a face mask
they said he plait dreads and he had tattoos,
his clouds shone from behind him
they found him on the road side,
his innocence desecrated,
eyes popped up beneath cracked lips,
his dreams burnt by the brazen heat,
open ears and closed fate,
all because he had refused to let them search his phone,
dog hunts in the day time
terror reigns at night,
our whispers hidden under the thick foams of fear,
i ask again, since when did the voice of silence parley with the dance of defeat?
the preacher has forgone the devil's snares
now we pray against the uniformed men invading our peace
from a distance, we mourn the increasing numbers,
the death-raped lady and the missing boy found in a cell,
we protest an agony of 24 hours hashtags,
and live with broken pieces of peace,
widows bury their sons,
father's dream of death in their sleep,
is that now how privilege works? we sympathise behind screens but not close enough to feel the heat ourselves.
Festus Obehi Destiny.
The short line.
For Ope Zainab Oluwatosin.