This is the story of a child, whose life
Right from birth has been very wild
Living in the pages of obscurity,
Existing in the chapters of insanity and loss of identity.
Revelling in the sweetness of crisis
Liberating the cruelty of the uniform,
She is suppose to be refined because she has gone through the flames,
The expectation was for her to be forged into independence without having different names.
She was raped of her freewill even before she had her freedom.
Free, yet in chains like a slave, a prisoner,
Isolation within isolation born out of selfishness and greed.
That is why the day is shorter, night is longer,
There is food yet we all hunger.
Now she craves sanity and rest,
But all she gets is madness stocking up in her breast.
The cries of the unborn is melodious to her ears,
Tears of the sullen ones , necessity to her fears.
The beast within dishing out pain and misery like a chef who knows his onions.
Listen, I come from the school of thought that a book should not be judged by its cover ,
Because the “subject”, of that thought will suffer,
And she will never recover, because first impressions do matter.
That’s why when her name is silently echoed,
People’s mind are driven into wild thoughts,
Their hearts shiver, even without opening the book.
Please pay attention, let your confusion not deepen
If Nigeria was a book, would she make for a good read,
Or make the heart of many bleed?
Would she create an imagination of solace filled with dreams and aspiration,
Or create an atmosphere of disbelief and confusion?
Now, it’s clear who the author would be, “Stephen King”,
I’m sure he thought of Nigeria when he wrote misery.
Isn’t it obvious, clear and plain to see,
What is happening to Nigeria our beloveth country.
It sickens me when I read the papers,
Corruption a constant act ,
Billions of naira stolen by human reptiles and rats,
Yes, the dialogue is in motion; but no one is doing shit
If Nigeria was book; would I be captivated by its pages?
Would it hold me spell bound through out all its chapters and pages?
Would it get special reviews and ratings?
Would it be a best seller in waiting?
Please listen, I am Nigeria, Nigeria is me,
I am speaking, yet there is silence.
Hmm mm. …. I weep within because the reality of it all,
Is that the cracks have always been in the wall,
Now all they wait for, is for her to fall,
Afterall the darkness is wholistic and yet we still yell “Up Nepa”.
They buy up our votes with bags of rice and we believe it’s going to be better.
It didn’t begin when freedom was born in 1960.
It has always been there since inception,
Everyone with his own tricks and illusion,
Building blocks of lies with no conclusion,
And then with our right hand on our chest reciting the pledge with dexterity, passion and combined loyal obligation.
All, just illusion, a farce, an act put up by very good performers,
Performances worthy of an Oscar award ;
Hmmmmm…..an Oscar award indeed.
It goes without saying, Nigeria is a book read by the world,
The diversity is the plot of it all,
Because unity has gone on long vacation, that’s we crawl
I wrote this poem with a heavy heart,
Because we are the author of Nigeria,
Yes, we are Nigeria , Nigeria is us.
We are the author of our backwardness and darkness.
Truly, the pen is mightier than the sword, what mightiness.
There is room for new pages, we need fresh ink, no more insaneness
On the path to a creating a new nation, create the awareness
Because, if Nigeria was a book, it make a good read,
But also make the heart of many bleed