-Inspired by the life and death of Journalist Dele Giwa.

They said he talked too much.

They said he asked too many questions.

They said he wanted to “shake the table.”

But really…

He just wanted the table to stop shaking us.

His name was Dare.

He was a journalist, not just by job, but by blood.

His pen didn’t write gossip. It pierced skin.

Not to wound, but to wake.

He believed truth was sacred.

That the people deserved to know.

That light must shine, even in military darkness.

That silence was not peace, just fear with makeup.

They warned him.

“Dare, calm down.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Power doesn’t like noise.”

But Dare kept writing.

He exposed scams.

Questioned weapons.

Exposed how they spent billions on bullets,

…while babies died with empty stomachs.

The people read his papers in traffic.

The rich hissed and turned the page.

And the powerful circled his name in red.

One morning, he received a parcel.

Wrapped in brown paper, sealed with care.

No name. No sender.

He smiled. "Another story," he thought.

He was right.

But this story…

Was written in fire.

The moment he opened it…

Boom!

Walls shook.

Glass shattered.

Silence screamed.

And just like that…

The voice that roared against lies,

Was silenced by a box.

They said it was an accident.

They said it was a mistake.

And then they said… they’d investigate.

But the air knew the truth.

So did the wind.

So did his pen, now burnt, lying beside his typewriter.

Years passed.

New headlines came.

New lies were printed.

New truths were buried.

But in quiet corners,

In rusted libraries,

In tired homes,

People still whispered:

“The man who opened the wrong letter…

…was simply the one who dared to read!”

______________

Be careful what silence you call peace.

Be careful what truth you label dangerous.

And when you see a man asking too many questions,

Don't hush him.

Hold the lamp beside him.

For if he falls,

We may all remain in the dark.