Biafra 1968: Igbo for ‘war is very ugly’ is agha ajoka
We are all, all of us
later than we should be,
failing to comprehend
because our minds and
ears are reverberating
with the tintinnabulations
of our self-importance.
We are the last, the very
last to reach the final
destination and watch the
ticket collector punch
out the eyes of the rest of them.
Turning away, turning away,
easier to say we did not see.
Hey, sorry, we say, we
didn’t see you standing there
shitting your little life away.
On paper it was easier, far,
to dismiss you as a ‘tragedy’
and none of our concern at all.
Now that we know, we dare not,
cannot, turn away, pretending
we really did not see,
for I am you and you are me
and there you stand waiting,
waiting for our train to come
before your life is drained
down into the unresisting earth.
Now that I’ve touched you,
seen those eyes of yours,
I can no longer shut
out your suffering,
nor turn away, remote
from what you have to bear.
I have to stop myself, others,
from
turning away, turning away.