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?

Comments

iyora said…
Nice piece…yes we await the promise of tomorrow…
segunozique said…
Thank you. The Nigeria complicated political pregnancy

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