Monday, 18 August 2014

A Poem - Are You the Walking Dead?

Ebola here.
Ebola there.
Ebola are You the Walking Dead?
The Chinese may cure you Zombie
With some burning garlic
But they do not claim it’s a curse

The wind that carried the ghostly scent
In Monrovia to Lagos
Also blew anger that arose the Dead
To tell stories of fear of more death
Can the Preacher’s Holy Water stop
You? Ebola are You the Walking Dead?

Our People now pick curses like stones
And hurl them at the White Saviours
Why they did not come early
With a cure? Or was it the joy of orgasm?
Of sheer power and where power lies?
But Ebola are You still the Dead walking?

And now rumours and rumours of an Instigator
Rummaging through the bushes of nearby Kinshasa
Then appearing in Conakry and then where?
Carrying along to the jungle his American lab
So the markets of Freetown are free
The life in Kenema sucked dry
Loved Ones wrestling the Dead from the Dead
Littering Death by the touch of the hour
Ebola You are the Walking Dead.


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"I would be quite satisfied if my novels (especially the ones i set in the past) did no more than teach my readers that their past - with all its imperfections - was not one long night of savagery from which the first Europeans acting on God's behalf saved them from."
Morning Yet on Creation Day, 1975. Chinua Achebe.

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