From the clutches of
Evil doers with long
You were rescued
By selfless Patriots
Whose stock in trade was
Service to humanity.
Adorned in green for productivity
And white for purity.
Sons and daughters march on
With courage in the wilderness of hope
Amidst consuming hopelessness.
Undeterred by their frailties
Even when they had no voice
To birth a common but laudable
Cause in a way that shook the world
Alas, congenial vagabondage was
Their lot to orchestrate a new dawn
Where man will be man but not pawn
And slaves will wear garments that fit
Yes, we got it as we Christen it 1960
A day we sent the Lords out
For their incapacitation
No, usurpation and unnecessary
Who cares about the fortunes
They catered away. We know it will
Be immodest to send away the
Agatu without some tubers
of yam as souvenirs.
The Agatu is gone but our
madness has increased.
The field is barren but locusts
And cankerworms still prey
On the little crops yet to survive
The inclement weather
Sadly, the village heads are insane
Weak and sterile
Who doesn’t know that whatever
Happens to the head gets to the feet?
Black days are here. The darkness
Is thick and we may grope until
We stumble on luck that we can’t
be sure of.
Even in the Boulevard, great men
Speak and do unthinkable things
They dance on the grave of the
Patriots with their idiocy
And they are never tired.
When will this darkness disappear?
Let there be light.
By Abire Sunday Olugbenga