THE SOUND OF REVOLUTION

                  

     THE SOUND OF REVOLUTION

  I saw the fires burning like it was mixed with brimstones, going high into heaven.
I heard the sound of angry mobs, moving fussily with so much scamper.
I saw the fire in their eyes, and in their voices I heard a subliminal echo of a fight for freedom, I heard resentments in each sound of their feet, feet's that'd sounded so heavily on the ground, like it was going to rip the earth off its borders.

I saw their faces designed with paintings of several inscriptions of images, some had the image of torture, some, disappointments, some agitation. I saw sweats mixed up with these paintings dropping down into their eyes and mouths, the mob cared less, sweats that are enough to fill an ocean. Underneath these sweats were tears, tears that had refused to stop flowing out from its basal of rest, in unison they'd agreed to flow spontaneously with the sweats.

Oh no!! Not again! I'm too fragile to behold this sight again, the images of the last one has never ceased to flash in my head, the blood I saw flowing through some heads, the incessant chantings, the fussiness of it had made me slump to the ground .

I woke the next day, oblivious if where I was. I saw this scary unfamiliarity, the gripping trauma of where I was or what had happened. Sitting down on this strange ragged sofa, with my head bent over its bugs ripped arms like a sulking child.
I felt this gentle touch, in panic I'd almost broken my wrist in an attempt to fight an unknown Hulk, nature had played it little fairness, it wasn't a Hulk, it wasn't Thanos, this should be a reincarnation of the mild hearted Vision, that had saved my almost dead body from the stampede of the angry mob and the crowd that had joined too, to express their own share of the anger ,it was like a dollar bill hit for them, some group of mobs had  come out to chant their anger and oh! they'd joined in the chant, using the mob as a cover, shielding their fearfulness and their shaky hands, never hesitating to run even before the shout of Jack!

Lifting my head to this strange being, with a broad smile, he whispered to my ear, 'stay calm you're in safe arms, glad I was able to resuscitate you.

I cared less about what he said, I needed to leave this dungeon, I needed to go back to my skyscraper and my pet Roomey, that's where I call home.
I'm not good at courtesy, I didn't say a thank you, I never said a word, my mouth felt as tho they were held by a siege. He wanted me to talk to him, he wanted me to say something at least my name.
In sulkiness I'd ran out of the house, but then I felt my conscience pierce me through, so hard  like a two edged sword, I heard this police man inside, with a voice like that of many waters, speaking incomprehensibly to me, I felt something push me back inside, there I saw this stranger, standing with his mouth agape, he must have been wondering at my silliness, I hugged him, I gave him a kiss on the head, I whispered a fainting thank you, and like a wind again, hastily I blew myself out of the house

Oh no!! Not again, I felt my hands and feet, so cold like that of a fresh dead body, shaky like there was some vibrator connected to it.
I've never been to any religious gathering for over 3 decades, but I'd heard children sing, "prayer is the key", the belief and faith on their faces when singing this song had inspired a force inside me to throw the first lines of the song, I sang under my voice. Inadvertently I'd prayed in the name of several Gods, I prayed in the name of Oshun, Zeus, Allah, Amadioha and Jesus. I joined my faith with that of the children, I hoped strongly that I'll pass through this mob and not slump again

Just somehow, these Gods answered, I made it out alive, from a distance, I could hear their voices, sharp, like they  were connected to an amplifier.
I stood under a shade, to catch my breath, I thought about these voices that I heard and its incessant re - echo my head.
These were voices of REVOLUTION, they are in search of redemption, 30km away away from the presidential Villa, they seemed invincible, not even the police 'tear gas' or the gunshots could stop them. Doggedly they wanted Baba to hear them, they wanted him to see what's choking on their throats.
The voices angrily increased when one of the crowd was shot dead by the aimless gunshot of the police, like Lions, they roared thier way through the police blockade

'Baba has to hear us, We are calling for revolution, we are calling for reformation, we are calling for redemption, for rehabilitation and repair of the many broken hearted and devastated. He just has to answer us', I heard them chant these repeatedly.

These were voices seeking for revolution, for a positive change, voices that had anchored their cables of strength on their right to speech and freedom of expression.
When you talk of Revolution, you hear the sounds of angry mobs, you see shaky cowardice crowd covering under the shield of the mind made up mobs
Think of Revolution, you'll see fires and brimstones elongating high into heaven
Think of Revolution, you'll hear sounds of gunshots from the 'we are on our job police'
Revolution? Think of the deaths of innocent and vulnerable young and old lives short living their existences and purposes through a blind and aimless gunshot on 'our job' mission
Think of Revolution, think of the shattering of the shelters of many


 The inception of Revolution was presumed to yield good fruits, sadly the end was a disappointed hope and expectation