By Chris Anyokwu
Before dawn, Harmattan haze still limning humans as trees walking, they had taken position:
Winding skein stretching into infinity of executive beggars bowl in hand
striking camp at the Beautiful Gate to power’s panelled halls.
Singing from the chapbook of magi, the milling mendicants intoned tear-jerking carols to loosen the king’s heartstrings for Christmas charity.
The unseasonal downpour drenched them rags and all and the infernal Lagos sun baked them dry in turn.
As the world clinked glasses of wine and savoured Yuletide dishes,
vigil became a wake for shattered hope.
And as the westering sun pursued her tedious route to the distant sea,
they all returned cursing fate to their hungry hovels.
@ Chris Anyokwu, is a Professor in the department of English, University of Lagos.
January 11, 2024.
