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Dreams
By Chiedu Uche Okoye
As I freely draw my breath,
My numbers become less on earth,
And my dreams gestate in the womb of time,
So my labours will ripen into flowers with time.
Labours ripen into flowers with time,
Where sanity and equity embrace the clime,
But leaderlessness entombs our dreams,
In stacks and stacks of paper reams.
Dipped in boondogle of red-tapism,
Sealed with official stamps of ethnicism,
Our citizenships become second-rate,
So our faith and fate we berate.
I had incubated dreams in the hatchery of my eyes,
And nursed hopes in the high sky,
That our minders will not let us down,
On this uninhabitable habitable lawn,
Our dreams are mowed down in the first trimester,
With the honed skills of a pentecostal trickster,
So should we continue to float on the bubbles of dreams,
Like the spinning and whining of the film reams?
