A LETTER FROM A PRISONER On Sunday noon When the sun sprouted Gleefully bold behind The curtain maze Four men-in-black With a darkish pistol Pressed forward Towards my domicile And on their head, Sat a peaked cap that Harmonized with their garb. And their brogans beating Bleak on the gritty ground I, Was at my domicile In the frontispiece Wearing a piece Of grimace on my phiz When they popped up Like a twiggy panhandler In Agbado-Market, Pleading for dough With a pseudo grin, "Sir are you...?" "Yes, that's me, my name..." With a doldrums phiz flared "But, I am not Nelson Mandella." They retorted sharply With a hoity-toity regards Tucking their guns "...we just want you In our office now, To spare no time, No time to spare..." My heart plunged with fear And cold bled struck. My mouth was heavy with silence And eyes teasing the hands, And eyeballed it clogged free Like a despicable thief. I was trailiing behind them Like a flagging Dog. I have no family. Is this a Cinema? Or nightmare, just 'Pulsating' the strings Of my mind, Playing my heart Like a timbre bass-guitar 'Oh, dream Must be filming me!' On the thoroughfare to hell My mind flitted through time I called to mind a well-off Man In the neighbourhood Whom I pleaded to nibble From his dining table; He scared the wit off me. And muttered, "GO AWAY YOU POVERTY-STRICKEN, JOBLESS MAN...!" In the nick of time I heard his sharp screech Accompanying the blubbering-wind Which called to my ears. He came, flapping his tongue While Striding to my doorstep Scooting sand Into the thin air With his longish, fatty feet. With a confused voice, He uttered words beyond his mouth Could carry, "For not paying Ears to your pleads, You rather payed me by shivering The mirrors of my SPORT-CAR; That worth millions of naira...? YOU CANNOT OWN THAT TILL YOUR LAST STATE OF MIND" 'I have not misheard' I stood boldly still, "I am a christian, dear brother How can I do such evil deeds In the sight of heaven's window, He sees me even when I spy my inwards..." He, twice, flicked his Two right five fingers And said, "YOU WILL SEE PEPPER TODAY." In their calaboose I was prison freed And was tortured To the state of death. In the gasp of my breath, I confessed still "I DO NOT KNOW WHO DID IT I ONLY SAW THE BROKEN GLASS BROKEN INTO MY FEEBLE HEART." Please. Drink from my Palm-wine Bleeding heart Do not take his words: His mouth filthy clean. 'I gave a SILENT SCREECH' "Can't you ask the robber That peeped through Our street last night...?" They heard it. At the moment Face flushed Hands drooped (Their madness flushed) And picked up with rage again- I was tortured the more I must But plead guilty I am innocent free Who just lost my Job. I remembered vividly 'THE RICH OWNS THE WORLD AT THEIR hefty FEET...' My heart jolted. Written by: Martins Tomisin (G.M.T)