I have been called many things
And I am many things
Yet I have not stolen
Nor dipped hands into documents
Altered figures from books
Bearing names and dates
Sums and cheques
I’m of course many things
Like the rags on streets
Paper in the wind
Reckless, unknown, forgotten
A tout, agbero, area boy
You name me
When there is a national convention
I have no representative
Mine are the potholed roads
Oil wells controlled by cabals
Dead street lights
Lying traffic lights
I have been killed multiple times
Taken to dungeons after torture
So death is not new to me
It is a friend
The only friend
Fateful and just
That tells me the truth
A lie is living when you are dead
Praying when your words are dirt
Engraving your name
Yes, on the surface of an empty grave
So you can label me
Strap an IED reading my time
And let me die
But I will die the final death
With truth written
On my shallow grave
Author Bio:
Nathaniel Bivan has, from a very young age, been addicted to books. In the university was when he started writing poetry while studying history. Many things inspired him, mostly life on campus and girls he crushed on. Sometime in his 300 Level he lost his first manuscript, a tattered exercise book in a box filled with clothing and certificates. But losing his work hurt the most. After then he wrote for some years, never with the former dedication, and then stopped. Almost five years into his career in journalism he picked up his pen again. After working on and getting a couple of his short stories published, he felt it was time to get back to poetry. The agitation for Biafra in his country, Nigeria, floods and other disasters, terrorism, corruption and more called him to write passionately again.
And I am many things
Yet I have not stolen
Nor dipped hands into documents
Altered figures from books
Bearing names and dates
Sums and cheques
I’m of course many things
Like the rags on streets
Paper in the wind
Reckless, unknown, forgotten
A tout, agbero, area boy
You name me
When there is a national convention
I have no representative
Mine are the potholed roads
Oil wells controlled by cabals
Dead street lights
Lying traffic lights
I have been killed multiple times
Taken to dungeons after torture
So death is not new to me
It is a friend
The only friend
Fateful and just
That tells me the truth
A lie is living when you are dead
Praying when your words are dirt
Engraving your name
Yes, on the surface of an empty grave
So you can label me
Strap an IED reading my time
And let me die
But I will die the final death
With truth written
On my shallow grave
Author Bio:
Nathaniel Bivan has, from a very young age, been addicted to books. In the university was when he started writing poetry while studying history. Many things inspired him, mostly life on campus and girls he crushed on. Sometime in his 300 Level he lost his first manuscript, a tattered exercise book in a box filled with clothing and certificates. But losing his work hurt the most. After then he wrote for some years, never with the former dedication, and then stopped. Almost five years into his career in journalism he picked up his pen again. After working on and getting a couple of his short stories published, he felt it was time to get back to poetry. The agitation for Biafra in his country, Nigeria, floods and other disasters, terrorism, corruption and more called him to write passionately again.
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