By Philip Chijioke Abonyi 5 months ago

Radio knows how 

To be scary in the morning

And a monster at night,

Five o'clock news knows

How to wake my fear,

How to bring me near 

A graveyard asking for me,


You no longer know

How to laugh—

Your mother says there

Is a spider in her throat,

There is how her body

Talks in strange voices,

That she doesn’t recognize

Herself these days,

Each time she says it,

There are some words

You do not want to imagine,





You deep your hand into

Your heart and there was

Something you caught—

Bad feeling. You throw 

It away but your 

Body is too fertile

It knows how to grow another one too fast. 


You climbed on the lorry

Of fear to the internet,

& you say:

Symptoms and sign of 

This Chinese demon?

The internet; I mean that

One called Google,

He didn’t answer you,

He reminded you of your

Poverty thus:

Error 404, check your connection. 

You sighed, yanked the

Door of the internet,

And stretch your anger

To the government,

The monkeys who eat

Your own banana,

They are the main virus

That tormented your

Father, tormenting you

And will torment your 



You yawn your way 

To your bed,

You told your eyes to 


But they are stubborn—

They like to participate

In the party that worms 

Are hosting in your stomach,

Party after party,

Those worms are Nigerians. 


You begin to count the

Ceiling. They are thirty-six pieces,

And one at the center is Abuja,

Looking at one at the extreme, you see Lagos,

There, a soldier is chasing 

A shadow,

And the shadow chasing 

His own life. He wants to

Live, but pots are empty,

The soldier kisses his trigger,

And shot life at head,

“This is an example”

The soldier smiled,

You break yourself 

And wish you’re not born. 


You try to log in the body of 

Mark Zuckerberg,

You do not hold the key,

You do not have connection,

You remember how to 

Relieve your pain a bit 

With *500#,

You deep your face 

In a bowl of a smile,

And begin to explore his 


Waiting for nine o'clock news,

To know how longer you 

Will sink your kneels to 

Ground to read the holy beads for God's spittle of mercy.

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