Man, born of a woman so much pain to endure.

Worst of them all,

When he’s from this part of the globe;

Where global warming is threatening.

A place where stealing is not corruption.

No wonder, they pad without caution.

Pointing fingers of accusation,

With no shame in their eyes.

They trade blame for gains,

That plunge us into a national shame.


A country,

Where those at the corridor of power,

Have no words of their own.

Educated copycats,

Who I guess giraffed their way through school.

Appearing in Monkey suits and oversized Agbada,

They feed fat from national treasury.

Leaving real men like us,

To toil day and night,

Just for crumbs under their table.


Women wailing in the streets,

Children left without bread,

And the men gradually going mad,

In conversation with themselves while they walked.

They trek from city to city,

In search of the promised jobs.

Only to end up in newspaper stands,

Without money to buy their beloved dailies,

They perch around to read, argue and sometimes fight,

Until their rumbling stomach says, “It’s time to go home!”


With salaries yet to be paid,

Civil servants are forced to till the ground.

Even when they go to farm,

Herdsmen from God knows where,

With impunity and rage in their eyes

Like they have monopoly of violence;

Rape and maim women.

Ripping human hearts apart,

There’s no glory at the gory sight.

Blood of men and women!


Even the pregnant woman is torn open,

By ravaging beasts from the north,

Who spend years the bushes.


The goose and the gander are far apart,

Dealing a deadly blow to one another,

Endangered species,

Are left at the prey of hunger.

Staring at the gruesomeness of their death,

With no show of mercy or goodness.

Even in their nakedness,

Mr. Keeper makes promises of greatness,

Yet, in an ignorant show of weakness,

And an abundance of wickedness,


Suicide has become but sweetness;

The best way to escape this madness.


I weep for Nigeria,

With no plans for the yet unborn,

Even the living is widely torn,

In hunger he is left in thorns,

With no plan in display.

Like actors in a horror play,

Bodies are left to decay.

Even the undertaker is no more.

Only scavenging politicians,

Who lead us to a death of shame,


Are left to reap where they did not sow.




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