It has been raining , ever since, it has rained, never a time one could heave a sigh of relief. Back to back it rains as bloody as it could be.
Tears of blood rained, as dry as the eyes could pretend to be ,it rains, rolling down in rivulets, with ached hearts, swears and curses on their mouth, their eyes rain in blood.
Who is this blood rain maker? Who is this that contracts these makers of blood rains, that come flooding the entire space, stiring uncertainties, fear and anxiety?
Who is this that regales and basks in the wetness of the eyes of Imolites even when nature wants and desires dry and sparky eyes for them?
Each day ends with blood rains no matter how dry the day starts, it must end in blood rains.
Last 2 weeks, it didn’t rain it poured , the entire place was flooded, water of blood everywhere, voices in pains, crying for help. It poured, souls swept into the gutters and manhole of life untimely. It rained! It poured! Drenched in its wetness were many young and promising souls, drowned in it ,forever gone in their prime and their vision and aspirations dimmed and bleaked, just like that!
Who is this rain maker of blood? Who is this devilish and wicked blood letting maker? Who is this man or woman that knows nothing but blood rain making, drowning many in its torrents and flood?
Is Imo the only place it rains ? Though it rains elsewhere, it pours elsewhere too, but the recurrence with which it rains in Imo is sad and disturbing.
The water of blood flowing, the pains it causes to souls and the curses that come from the very pained and agonizing heart of those whose loved ones were drowned in it are so potent only the mercy of the God would reverse it.
Who is this blood rain maker that is always on the mouth of people?Who is he or she that knows nothing else but to make rain that would flood and engulf destinies?
Who makes this rain that is gradually turning Imo state into a blood riverine, flowing like hemorrhage of acute stage?
This is not the dream! Imo isn’t meant to be this way. Peace and happiness, love and care, looking after one another, and making sure we live in unity and progress. This is what Imo was, how did we get here?
My eyes swell in pains and agonies so should the eyes of any who means well.
This isn’t the time for rhetorics, not the time for political correctness, defence and propaganda. This is a time to call a spade a spade not some kind of farming implement.
Homes are in pains, souls grieving , destinies cut short and bread winners hauled mercilessly into the dark depth of the grave.
Put yourself in their shoes and see how comfortable and cosy it feels.
Let us for ones be human and say never again to this blood letting in a flood manner. Everywhere one goes flood of blood flowing? Not once, not twice not trice, a norm, making Imo a place to be feared and dreaded.
It could be you! Nobody is immuned to the wickedness of bad and wickedness of human heart, like a wind it blows, only God knows who gets hit or not.
Imo must be better!
Jarlath Opara
