LOST PRESTIGE

Happy birthday in Advance to Nigeria

I hailed from a mighty land,

Where rabbit roars and chases lion to den.

I hailed from a redolent and peacefull Greenland,

Where milk and honey flows like great river

Our trees are full of shady greens and fruits.

But why am I wailing in shred?

Long before I was born,

Our virtue and prestige become a football,

Which our alpha parents passed to serpent,

He dribbled them like a skillful player

And shot it into his kingdom.

The evolution of white heads come like gods on earth

Yorubas said " Orunmila has visited us"

Igbos said" Chukwu has incarnated as blonde"

Hausa said" Maguzanci has resuscitated"

Our foresires saw them and ran among leaves like monkeys

And worship at their filthy foot like donkeys.

Our respect are robbed like gold,

We served at foot like a filthy dogs,

"whites are masters, black are slaves" they said.

The mowed down men that stand against their order,

Terror were spread to break the spirit of our nationalist.

Patriotic men fought through the fiery sword

To gain freedom from filthy white heads,

Bloods of innocent men were used to entice freedom;

Yeah! we got freedom!

How shall we rule ourselves?

We gained freedom,

Country seems miserable

All goals seems not achievable

We chose leaders to sail our country

To the redolent and peaceful land we hailed from.

Leaders turned country's map to chess board,

Fierce men are found near the game,

Flimsy men are hiding in their tent,

When shall the worm eat meaty part of country?

Like a beautiful vacuous virgin,

Our virginity is taken with the strong oath to stay

with us in all storm of life.

They lure us to the bed of affliction and rob off us our virtue.

Days after the insemination,

Our belly is out, we walk with belly of hardship.

"Oh"! We exchanged our prestige with peanut.

Our beautiful face becomes ugly after

They satisfied their member,

They waved to us from afar with men in black around them,

Did they come with men in black to rob our virginity?

Patriotic men now hides in deep cave,

Waiting for the trumpet of last day to sound,

They have forgot the vow, " The labor of our heroes past shall never be in vain"

They can't serve with their strength and might,

Everyone dine and wine in eminent of corruption.

Truly, we have lost our prestige

Should I say I'm John the baptist?

Or Moses the best writer?

But I'm David, king of Israel,

My hand writes and voice proclaims

Until it shine forth from underworld,

Our prestige...

Whether I write or not,

Whether I speak or not,

I shall stand before the Alpha and Omega,

Giving the account of how I spent every minute,

How can I look into his eyes if I speak not?

How shall I talk to him if I write not?

Shall I live long or not?

Or have I done the purpose of the Potter?

Or hiding the deep cave of cowards?

I want my death to lead me to another life full of unending heartsease.

Comments

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