THE NIGERIA POLITICAL CROSS OF CALVARY
Nigeria, my Nigeria what wind is this we scent in the air
Blowing its way from
slugs to danger, gathering storm
Wheedling tropical fragrance with the wheezing of cannabis,
The dry breeze of soon-to-be fermenting political potions is
about
Tastes like sour wine and spoilt lobsters
Blank and worn-out is the texture
Disease-ridden are the hands that steer the infusion
Brewing in the air are songs of war most know nothing about
We only can think as far as the story heard and read in
books
Of delicacy of raw casava and leaves stuck in the teeth of
the eaters,
Of ravished land and empty stomachs bloated, and filled with
winds
And decent attiring defined by coverings like the virgin
jerks of Abuja,
In the mix is a soft voice of caution calls behind darkened glasses
Voice and sounds of mothers and lasses to bear the outcome brunt,
Voice of sensibility is often ignored or habitually taunted like
little children
The story has been told that to save His people from the downheartedness
we head,
A certain sacrificial gentleman called Christ spilled His
blood in the land of Calvary
To make us today want to ask, who shall we turn to, to nail at
the political cross in Abuja?
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