GIDEON EMMANUEL
& TO BE A CITIZEN IN THIS COUNTRY.
& to be a citizen in this country
is to shape_shift your body into a dartboard
that’ll hold every arrow of insecurity.
When your feet kiss the body of your house ‘goodbye’
all that’s left growing in your mouth are petals of prayers,
because you don’t know if the petals will wither
into ashes before your feet return home
to kiss the body of your house & say ‘I’m back’
These days, I’ve questioned God‘s omnipresence.
I’ve questioned why his eyes slumber to my country.
I’ve questioned why his hands are soft on our backs.
I’ve questioned his judgments, his powers & his grace.
A friend leaves home & her body becomes a tale of the past
unspeakable, unrecognizable, untreatable, untraceable
like the murals of an angry painter reminiscing
spilled blood on dresses, many colors of heartaches
& shades of agonies from the pressmen.
& to be a citizen in this country
is to walk like a lamb around its axis,
because the hunter is unseen & your instinct
is like a map that leads you to a known destination,
is to walk around a furnace & sit at its hems
because the fires are not quickened to burn off the
ribbons that blindfold your eyes
& the skin covering your folly that’s without scars for hours.
Didn’t they tell you that my country is a coffee trafficker
your body =black caffeine & your breath oozes from it.
You say to a Nigerian Soldier that you are a citizen
that you are a patriot & you work for the government,
& then he looks at you in dismay. Triggered by your boldness,
like you both don’t share the same national identity,
Or mourning the onslaught of bodies who never saw the stars
even though their wishes were as paper planes shot to the sky,
even though they prayed to their God for the country to be sane
for their body to pass through it. So that they wouldn’t be
like sacrificial lambs slaughtered by the country they departed
& prayed for before their feet kissed its dust.
Already you have regrets_
sprinkled as salts on the fleshy part of your heart.
Here_ he says that he wants to search you
without a warrant? With a firearm strapped to his hands.
If only a search will be conducted to know
the alkalinity of your sanity,
to see how traumatic it is to be a citizen of this country.
Gideon Emmanuel (he/him) is a young poet and teacher from Lagos, Nigeria, who adores nature and children. His poems have appeared in Eboquills, U_Rights Magazine, Arthut Anthology, Boardspeck, Street Child Anthology, Terror House, Agape Review, Poemify Publisher, Fiery Scribe Review, Brittle Papers & Flat Ink Journal, Stripes Magazine, Poetry Column ND, International Human Rights Arts Festival(IHRAF) & Adoptee Reclaimed.
For leisure, you’ll find him teaching, reading, writing, meditating, and cooking. Find him on Facebook at Ubaha Gideon Emmanuel, Twitter: @GideonE52756732, and Instagram: gideon_emmaunel_890.