The Lament
By
the roadside
On
way to their village
With
hands under chins
Sobbing
gently, crying audibly, wailing sadly
And
rather incomprehensibly, intermittently laughing hilariously
As
if on cue, they then loudly uttered a succession of expletives
A perturbed
oldie traveller
Chancing
on the melancholy six
Gently
enquired what be the matter
One
after one the suspicion
The
very strong suspicion
Invisible
invaders were about in their village
My
brother’s body found on outskirts of village
My
father disappeared from village mosque
My
cousin abducted from village football field
My
uncle in prison for telling stories to village chief
My
sister beaten for not clapping for distinguished visitors to village
My
nephew with village chief for writing nonsense about distinguished visitors
So
we sobbed
So
we cried
So
we wailed
So
we laughed
But
we also shouted expletives
And
even more expletives to temporarily drown our sorrows
But
we were called uncivil
Uncivilised
even
By
others also condemning the invisible invaders
For
shouting a few expletives
At
the traumatic invisible invaders of our village
What
utter nonsense this
The
oldie traveller agreed our expletives we should escalate
For
death is infinitely worst than the worst form of expletives
For
disappearance is worst than a few mild expletives
For
abduction is worst than a handful of expletives
For
unmerited imprisonment is worst than occasional expletives
For
physical abuse is worst than few expletives directed at the village traumatizer
How
misplaced this ridiculous lament of our civilised and cultured men and women
Lamin J Darbo