Its actually hard to believe its the eight day.

In this untitled post, this author tell us a story in form of poetry. He talks about the GreenLand–rather the supposed GreenLand. He talks about the fables and farce and tells us what really applies. He talks about the future. Truly emotional.

What do you think about the Grim-Land? Share your thoughts.



They speak of tales of the once GreenLand,
They thought it would last forever.
It sounds like myth to me,
Something far-fetched,
I can hardly believe – given the signs!

I speak of a GreenLand surrounded by untamed serpents,
Disguised by the fertile land, wrecking havoc,
Slowly maturing into a multiple headed hydra,
Swallowing my sisters up North,
Biting my brothers down South,
Barely sparing my Western and Eastern relatives,
Spitting venom, blinding the eyes of our leaders.

They speak of a land flowing with milk and honey,
I tell of a nation burning – within,
Fresh blood flowing leaving the nation anaemic,
Young virgins taken captives,
Mutilated young boys never to become men
Who ever said there was no use crying over spilled milk
I cry, we weep,
But our tears cannot stop the unending blood,
The milk that ought to flow has turned blood
The honey has ceased,
The bees sting more than ever.

They speak of groundnut pyramids
I tell of piles of charred mutilated bodies
They speak of the blessing of the discovery of crude oil
I speak of the curse of the Black Gold
Desolating our lands, causing our mines to become obsolete.
One step at a time but in the wrong direction,
I no longer see River Niger and Benue
I see unanswered question with whys!

Is the future really bright?
When the leaders of tomorrow do not get to see the light of the day,
Children with great dreams have been murdered in their sleep,
Perhaps so they could keep on dreaming…

They speak of the colonial masters having a strong black slave boy who became an adorable giant,
I am telling of an aging ailing old man, bent, wrinkled, malnourished supported by two walking sticks,
He ails nearing his death
Who would mourn when he finally dies?
The orphan, the widow or the girls who might just not return home?

I cry, We weep
No honey, no milk
More deaths, more blood
A Greenland turned Grim-land!


Written By Adefolalu Toyosi

You can read more of his work on a blog he co-runs with yesterday’s writer, Christian: Writtenwhisperz.wordpress.com

4 thoughts on “Untitled.

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