after The Nigerian Nightmare by Chinedu Gospel  

I was never meant to say anything. I was supposed to watch the fruits grow in the garden full of snakes. I was bitten today. Yesterday, i took a cyborg to my country for sightseeing & told him to zip his mouth about the rotten fruits. his cheeks still hold a warning tag from the last visit. At the lab, wanting to hide the scar, I told the prosthetic to cover the cyborg’s cheeks with my country’s coat of arm—the eagle on the top & the two horses posing on both sides. I understand little about dishonesty but i know the genesis of surviving in the realm of a political nightmare is to eat from the rotten fruits or embrace the holiness of silence. I & the cyborg—since we arrived my country, have been fasting, abstaining from our blue-coated tongue. When it was time for the cyborg to depart home, i formatted his memory because the ears between politics & truth is deaf & i do not want another cyborg’s chip to rust. I swear, i do not want to blame my countrymen but who hasn’t eaten from the garden, me?