I opened my newsfeed, staring at unfamiliar faces, &
they returned the gaze. they were all budding fires
& this country was the extinguisher that transmogrified
them into ashes. how many souls would slip through
the fingers of mortality to proof their patriotism? like
how a family in Zamfara or Kaduna State is cleared out
like weeds on farmplots.

another week is about to unwrap itself & unfold grief
until it s t r e t c h e s into every corner of the
country. whose name would suffix another
#callforjustice on social media & later become a
rumpled piece of paper to be trashed in the waste
bin? whose body would be subjected to crude
dissection, unscrewed of it's vital
parts? whose father or mother or child would
get pulled out of a vehicle or train like a sore tooth into
an unknown location?

my eyes still water from the stings of our biting
economy. my head hasn't stopped looking over my
shoulders from fear of a hooded gunman lurking around
to create holes on my body until oxygen vacates my
lungs. grief in this country is a pest. It comes & doesn't
leave feasting on the happiness of a family, taking off
laughter from the mouth of a happy child. like mine,
like ours.