Trouble

They go in droves. Italy. Dubai. Somewhere outside Nigeria, somewhere, not Hell!

They have goods in hand, hoping to sell.

But life is not what they want it to be, when they strangely let themselves go.

They wind up messed, lied, used and deceived, and so;

No matter that some of them are married,

The wrongful indulgences they also carried.

They set out to sell their souls,

A movement it is, they swim in shoals.

All they look is for an easy way out,

Instead of being caught crying, with none hearing them shout.

Nigerian taxi drivers and agents they begin to see,

A means out of a way to pay for anything – all’s free!

They remain blissfully ignorant -

That these things are the same as playing truant.

The risks of disease, the wrongs to their body.

The destruction of life, an existence so shoddy.

The men get a deal,

As easy as a meal,

First it is free women, then it is rewards,

Then it is commission, and the women’s lives are in shards.

What can one say to their plight,
When they seldom think, however slight?
What duty can they ask for, the enforcement of what right?
When they betray their values, and quickly lose sight?

By Kirthi Gita Jayakumar