A CRY FOR EVERYBODY - by Muhammad Mercurial

This is not just a cryit is a siren buried in the ribs of a nationa thunder trapped in human throatswaiting for courage to become sound Nigeria is not quietshe is choking her forests have learned new languagesthe dialect of gunpowderthe grammar of footsteps that do not return Trucks that once carried cementnow ferry breath in captivitystacked soulslayered like bricks of fearbuilding a nation of silent graves on wheels Seventy millionthey say it like it is small talklike it is change forgotten in a pocket Seventy millionfrom men whose destinies have never met one millionwhose joy would have eruptedat the mere scent of such a number now reduced to bargaining chipsin a marketplace where life is auctioned Uniforms...oh uniforms once the poetry of protectionnow rewritten into costumes of deceit stitched with liesworn by wolves who understandthat trust is the easiest door to break You stopbecause safety taught you obediencebut danger has mastered imitation Hands tiednot just with ropebut with the cruelty of intention eyes sealednot just from sightbut from hope stones crashing against bonesas if they are sculpting painas if humanity must be beaten outbefore captivity is complete Seven shadows on seven machinesroaring like doom across dusty roadssixteen hearts reduced to trembling echoes guns speaking fluentlyin a language no one enrolled to learn Nine in the morninghope sat beside them By four thirtyfear had taken the wheel Time did not moveit crawleddragging their sanity across thorns ATM cards harvestedlike crops from trembling handspins extractedlike secrets from broken souls and somewhere in townmachines blink green money flowswhile life dries They walk freelywith borrowed identitieswhile the real ownersare tied to trees of suffering Left behind in forestswhere silence has teeth but before departurethey gift them one last memory stones again breaking legsbreaking handsbreaking any thought of escape because freedommust be crippled Two spoons of garribecomes communion seven days of hunger preaching survivalstomachs shrinking into prayers and thirstbecomes a slow negotiation with death Ransom risesnot just in numbersbut in brutality machetes writing red signatures on skinpeeling humanity layer by layer until pain forgets its own name And leadership... leadership stands at a distancewatching the nation bleed politely as if governance is not responsibilitybut decoration their silence is a conspiracytheir absence a weapon Tell me when did we normalize horror when did screams become background music when did we start measuring tragedyby proximity You sayit is not my people but pain does not carry ID cards it does not respect languageit does not honor tribe it only knows direction and one dayit will locate you Nigeria is not landshe is flesh we are her veinsher breathher fragile heartbeat and every ignored cryis a clot forming waiting Until the body collapses So bury this selfish safetythis illusion of separation because survival is collectiveor it is nothing If one part burnsthe whole body feels it whether it admits it or not This is not a northern crynot a southern sorrownot an eastern echonot a western wail This is blood calling blood This is humanity demanding itself This is a cry that refuses division A cry that stretches its armsto every earevery conscienceevery sleeping soul This is a cry for everybody and if it does not move you then maybeyou have already gone silent inside. Muhammad Mercurial 🖋️

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