PA

The price of activism

I called you Pa, but
your friends fondly called you Sadiku son of Loreku
Devotees Worshipped you as their Oracle.

They claimed you tattooed the
clouds with riddles
and that the oceans danced to your ripples.

You loved the periwinkles that flavoured grandma's stew but I recall her wrinkles.
What I loved the most was her dimples.

Papa says the world is ruled by principles
Our president is pa's brother but he called him a b*****d and pa called him a prodigal.

Pa!
Angry cops labelled you a spearhead of rabbles.
Their wrath turned your organised protests into street battles.

Protesters' anger charged the atmosphere like steam from heated kettles.
It became another Hiroshima for those who dared to dabble.

Pa!
Your Verbal bullets flew with gusto in the heat of battle.
They weren't like words from a game of scrabble.

I watched those constables charge with 47s and I cringed at the ensuing scuffle.
In the yelling match, your face became wet with their collective spittle.

And yet, you laughed like they were nothing but fable.
You called them fools too dense to challenge their masters' foibles.

Blood gushed, it didn't trickle.
I watched and wished
your skinny frame could defy them like Heracles.
The deed is done and now you're a cripple.

Image Credit: freepik.com

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

What a great second stanza...and cops do like to turn protests into street battles.
They did it in our time in the late sixties as well.
Verbal bullets flew...they too flew in our days of protest.
And we had no bullet proof vests for our ears.
j.

[Akinlolu]

It's been a long time,, Sir Jacob. I always appreciate your historical insight. Thanks for this review. It's a weird planet with beautiful people and seasons of craziness. Gracias.
Akinlolu