Tales From The Underground

When I arrived in Europe for the first time it was Paris.
After the plane was the train
It was a long ride underground.
" Where is my Paris ? " I asked.
" Please someone help ! "
The Paris I came with as a hand luggage !
Of skies of light and diamond moon !

How long will I be here without a landscape ?
How long will I be here before I am greeted by a happy face ?
Where is the " bon-jour "?
When will I hear the careless laughter of a child ?
How come my TV says people talk ? My TV must be dumb !

Hello! My name is Emeka
E – M – E –K- A
Anyway, nevermind.
May be not here. Maybe not today.
For I am in the métro and not the metropolis

It feels ...hmm, nice. Yes, nice to be here. In Lagos we don’t have métro ( stupid Lagos !)

Yet there is something bizzare about it.
Now I feel guilty for being here
Like I have just added too much joy to a useful sorrow.
Well, they say it’s Paris where the choice is plenty and the choice is free.
So I will take my fun elsewhere

Yet after two and something years, I am still riding the metro
But now I understand why everyone wear black
Because I too, am wearing black.