Posted in Poetry

Point and Kill


Noel Ihebuzor


Point and kill

did not start here

but it is now everywhere here

in various forms

shapes and tastes



Ibari Ogwa tastes so different

from Abagana,

Abagana from Upper Iweka,

Upper Iweka from Ariara,

Ariara from Ibari Ogwa



Catfish hate catfish lovers

and other persons with sensitive palates

no need for them to worry

or be wary of

the new point and kill


the new point and kill experts

descend on bush meat

and grass cutters

after duty is done

when the cutting down

and slaughter for the day are done.


Young men with loud voices, drunk

on half defined dreams & ideas,

armed with belief and hope in excess

bubbling and foaming

like fresh palm wine

come to out to demonstrate,


They come out

to boldly ask why,

and how and when

fuelled by patchy tales,

about a past of suffering but of honor

of killings and rejection

and self affirmation,




Gladly the young men and women come,

spirits high, head high

The point and kill team deploy

pronounce the assembly illegal

order dispersal or “odawise”



The youths object, odighi eshi, and soon,

the point and kill commences

AK47s chatter and shatter

nzogbu-nzogbu chant dies



screams fill the air

live dreamers become dead heroes

on this painful lonely road

as confusion swells, an unending rain

of bullets

shatters body, bones and brain


Red flows freely

on the unequal field

on the pot hole filled streets

their stuffed gutters with no escape

the cream of a people,

scream and wither


Oyenusi and Anini

well robed, bound and roped

knew what was coming

still their frames shook and danced

exuded blood when the point

and kill team went to work



On this cruel road,

a steady stream of red

flows where bullets

flew and slew

soaking the land



For a few who walked this road,

their sun will never rise

in front or behind them again,

neither the half nor the full sun

neither will they see the mothers and aunties

as these wail


so many miles away,

in one lost rug suffocating room

some lost man

sticks some medal

on the chest of some other lost soul, for

pointing at and killing young men

but not their hazy dreams

which stream defiantly across

the midday mourning sky in quarters



Meanwhile in so many joints,

so many and same skies away

important minds dispute on which

point and kill tastes better –

Ibari Ogwa, Ariara, Upper Iweka

or Abagana?


Development and policy analyst with a strong interest in the arts and inclusive social change. Dabbles occasionally into poetry and literary criticism!

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