We see the wrongs
Yet swim along
We hear blunders
Yet not bothered
We feel the harm
Yet no alarm
We see scapegoats
Yet sell the votes
See what folded arms has done
Are we not undone?
This is the situation in some sub-saharan Africa States
Shall her heroes labour go in vain?
There she lies again,growing older. Her mates are growing with bounty development but vast hope still lies in the thought of her children.
She is green and white; what a beauty! She has oil to her disposal, agricultural products within her reach or should we talk about coal and steel or the erstwhile minerals in her disposition. What a wealth!
She once rose in 70s, her currency going in a duel with dollar; a naira for a dollar. What a currency!
She rode all through that era among her Negroid family, her Congoid peers were admiring her stardom, the western was dismayed by her rise.
And she had heroes; her brave children. These children had fought her freedom from the westerners and started a revolution but there it was; she had bad kids; one who haunted her despite being their mother.
Her bad kids defied others of power, stole our mother's wealth and still oppressed their brothers and sisters with their stolen. Even went further in manipulating their siblings brains with cooked lies so as to get power and steal their mother's wealth and still opress their siblings.
Also, she had crazy kids; they believed in her downfall so they attacked her children (their siblings) for their selfish and unbelievable wants.
Mother Nigeria is getting weak day by day, some children wants to help but the brainwashed and bad siblings won't allow. Some children are joining the "train of destruction" of their mother because they don't to be on a losing side and feels it's a normal act.
Her heroes (children who fought for her) are going in vain, day by day, she is dying slowly by the activities of her children. No one wants to start a revolution because of those in poor.
The giant of Africa is gradually becoming timid and her tag being questioned.
And there her children has feud over their races and religion and bitterness grown over them.
What would happen to mother Nigeria while some of her children only have hope filled in her while others have ran away for shelter from other mothers.
Shall the giant of Africa rise again, shall her heroes labour go in vain, would her children unite in peace and make her great?
Only time and God can tell.
Boko Haram is coming!
The wolves are at the door.
Buzzards have gathered to pick at
The carcass of war.
See drones in the sky
Against half of a yellow sun.
Climb into the tank
And we'll play Big Soldier Gun.
One misstep away from where they cannot hide.
Peace by force.
Give your food and water
To the troops, of course.
Besides all the kids
Have shrapnel belly.
A fresh scar on a story
Old and tired.
Things fall apart, Mr. Brown,
So check the "sell by" date.
Our liberation is all but expired.
Boko Haram is a terrorist group that focuses its attacks in northeast Nigeria. Boko Haram kills civilians, abducts women and girls, forcefully conscripted boys and men, and even destroyed homes and schools. According to a UNICEF report, Boko Haram abducted more than 1,000 children between 2013 and 2018, including 276 Chibok schoolgirls. More than 100 Chibok girls are yet to return home even after five years of the incidence.
I know I'd probably get hate comment
But your words cannot create torment
It's just like the way people these days stare at my hair
And I won't even care; as if it doesn't ring a bell
You know; sometimes I wonder if it's possible for someone's brain to be paralysed
That's what I feel anyway; about those who call themselves sarakites
Sometimes I wonder if some youths' mind has been contaminated with the society mayhem
Maybe their master has brainwashed and re-brain-feed them
The so-called buharist too; makes me sick
With their overhyped appraisal for a political freak
they sees their master as saint; and anybody who don't support
's gotto be corrupt
The whole concept of this district makes me weak
It's just a different story of a blind man and his stick
But this time; the white-cane controls the blind man's brain
Just like the white folks controls black man's aim
The sheep now controls the shepherd
The goat rule over the leopard
How do you expect me to praise someone who's got nothing to offer
I'd rather be an orphan
Than being a ripen fruit of a corrupt family tree
Never a slave; I was born to live free
I'm not a puppet of a political faction
I can only lease fraction1/2 support of a political action
Because unlike them clueless fool
I am not a useless youth
Who will abandon his roots and fruits
And start praising some political occult
I am not a political tool
Who engages in spreading counterfeited news
About how the president is a fascist
I'm not an agent of hate-speech
How can I support leaders
with zero point agenda
When poverty is the only completed government project
When political opponents poke-nose in civil servant protest
Why will I vote when I know my vote do not count
Corruption, our newly designed flag
Poverty is our special kind of rain
Our skin covered with grey and black paints (instead of green and white paints)
Pain, pain all over and over again
Now; let us pray
Oh Lord; please do not forsake
Do not let our country stray
To the youth with lighten sane
Receive brain in Almighty's name
Wake up Nigeria whilst it is still day.
Your darkness thickens in the hot summer sun.
Wake up Nigeria from your spectators' fun.
Like a titan to the slaughter, your way
to financial hades might be certain.
Awake, or your future is uncertain.
Your teeming youth population languish
in persistent erosive social crimes.
Awake Nigeria from pain and anguish.
Your tragedies exceed your countless births.
Awake Nigeria, for these many deaths
reveal a corrupt weakened armed forces.
Awake Nigeria from your great slumber.
Your rank in the black world has been usurped.
Awake Nigeria, reclaim your number
one position by treading those courses
once trod, and never again to be stopped.
Awake Nigeria and discern the times.
Cease for good to be black gold dependent.
A poem about the deteriorating state of my beloved country