If this is not my home,
It is not yours as well.
Passers-by we just are—
Stationed herein till the end of time,
Thence soar to glory, or agony…
We’ve been here for a while,
Busy crying…aren’t our tears enough to fill the Nile?
We’ve won wars since we’re born;
But aren’t we still on the periphery, torn?
We elated them; they have deserted us,
We trusted them; they have betrayed us…
We’ve been drinking and dining as one,
What evil then divides us into twos, threes and fours?
Caged on the island of poverty,
And poisoned by venomous egocentrics, tribalists and racists,
We kill and get killed;
We die, like a fly, and lie—unburied,
Thus throw a feast to vultures.
Good bad news floods airwaves,
Our blood colours local dailies:
“so and so no more…”
Oh, sons of my mother,
These turbulent storms of political uncertainties,
Are ruining us!
We’ve sacrificed enough—
Votes, time, and patience.
Why again be sacrificed,
To gods of tribalism, deceit, arrogance and terror?
C’mon, soul brother:
Let us huddle together, like abandoned chicks,
Amid this violent winds of insecurity.
Let us be wary of stinging tongues—
They speak words of the palm wine,
Thence to us preach doom…
Once we loved and laughed,
At the sun we smiled; hoping for the best whilst it shined…
And the fun isn’t over,
Why is hatred ripping apart us?
