I don't live there now, except in my mind
in memories long repressed but not forgotten
scarcely recounted tales of the dead and rotten
our forlorn hopes and bedraggled clothes
still worn by my women of that unfortunate time
salvaged all around from clan and from clime
No, I don't live there now
except in my mind.
I don't live there now, except in my mind
there, gazing at fading lights in the old man's eyes
a fresh wound set in a scar, the buzzing flies
his missing stump and crooked chewing stick
and even now, the gnashing of teeth
his words, not spoken, make me seethe
No! I don't live there now
except in my mind.
I don't live there now, except in my mind
Mama's voice echoes like a bell, tolls and tells
of 100 dropped bombs and a 1000 riffle butts
plus fresh fires hot, set blazing cold, to old huts
Dad, for his part, in his high polished ways
tells of shattered clay pots and empty food trays
No, I don't live there now
except in my mind.
I don't live there now, the pictures would show
old Ogbunigwes and hollowed-out shells
poses of the brave and their bearded leader
above cadenced phrase, for mind and reader
They miss the despair, get, the kwashiokor bellies
and the Red Cross White Man's blood stained wellies
But, I don't live there, don't ask me why
Of Biafra, pure homeland, except in my mind.
