15/04/2022
RETROSPECTION
Our robes were tainted
By a poisonous fruit
In a garden
Of our ancestral guilt
The inerrant jungle of
Our problem's ultimate root
That has kept blowing aloud
Dirge like the Igbo flute
On sorrow our existence
Came to be built
Perfection worn out of our suite
And our future became
Our humongous loot
Yet, out of His ageless
undeserved love
Our potter never remain mute
Hope, he released to stand
Amidst of our pain
Offering us the blood of his Son
To wash white our robes again
He gave his life
To reverse our case
Secure bruises
To buy us back to grace
And lost came to be
The tunnel of Satan's gaze
Our voices can hardly tell
The bedrock of our gratitude
Hence we relinquish not from you
Our memorial attitude
And we endlessly exact
Ourselves to you vigorously
With the highest magnitude.
(R) Wisdom Nickson
15/04/2022.