The Nigerian human, like a tree that falls
in an uninhabitable forest, is never heard.
Not by pot-bellied prebends whose noses
perceive only the smelly melodies of their own ramblings.
Not by monsters whose belch is a tirade
Hurling loud boastings after a conquest
of the communion table.
Not by the gunshots of generals tongue-tied
by the horrors of consciences seared
by the ugliness of indifference.
Like a tree that falls, unheard and unsung,
the Nigerian human is an echo of silences
misperceived into oblivion by the absence of those
For whom it sings.
Like a tree that falls, the Nigerian human
is a forest that crumbles and nothing makes a sound.
Until now, as the cry against tsars
ricochets in gestures to #endSARS.
Excerpt from 'A Tree that falls' by James Yékú
