Dear Nigerian Lawyer

A very uncomfortable English

woman wrote a century ago, “Women have sat

indoors all these millions of years, so that

by this time, the very walls are permeated by their


creative force, which has, indeed so overcharged

the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must

needs harness itself

to pens and brushes and business and politics.”



There are no locks which can save you from the race,

that race of speeding hate, that race


which makes humans behave like rodents: Economics.


If your room is made of mud or scrap

metal, there is no sanctuary


for women sitting indoors in Rwanda, not if you are

Tutsi, not if you are Afghan, not if you are


poor.  The river overcapacity by the volume of blood

flowing downstream from genocide speaks in trickles,

gentle laps on the bank that hums a hymn


about humans having no love for each other. Friends

become targets for hate propaganda.  We should know by now not to

listen to shit. We should know by now the only thing

that ever survives death is grief over lost love. Nothing can take grief

way. The Cradle of Human Kind that cave of wonder where we find

the first known bones of our instincts, reveals itself—where it is decided

if you are prey or predator.  I’ve learned the truth of feathers

flocking.  They, like birds do it, do it either in fear or instinctual survival


or it’s something so corrupt it makes the whole damned race prey

on itself: Money is an inhuman thing.  Inanimate objects like paper

by definition is not human, rather it is just an idea arbitrarily ascribing

more value on one life over another.  Poems have no value

merely meaning.  What you seek also seeks you

only if it’s human.  Poems the fall like feathers from human eyes,

as if the word mother means nothing at all. The landscape of gentle,

caressing, motherly, comfort is love

which should be the name of every God out there.  Love is

something everyone needs, but too many of us are suffering too much

by the nature of Greed.




1 Comment

  1. An interesting title for the poem…some poignant points made.

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