The Bitter Refrain

A mantra of hope, he chanted strong,

“This too shall pass,” where fears did belong.

Six moons have waxed and waned since then,

Yet hope’s flame flickers, for many, extinguished again.

The preacher’s words, a hollow refrain,

“We shall sing again,” a promise in vain.

“Hallelujah!” our parched throats did cry,

As he spoke of miracles, we could not deny.

“Healing for the afflicted,” he claimed with zeal,

But his words were empty, a distant, cruel reveal.

“Nigerians will sing again,” he vowed with pride,

But the songs we sing, are dirges, our hearts divide.

We’ve learned to sing, a mournful tune,

At funerals, we gather, a never-ending June.

If only we knew, the song he meant to teach,

Perhaps we’d find solace, in a different, sweeter speech.