My sweet Nigeria
I sit on the fence
And watch your sons
Whose pallid faces are like worn jewels
Some of them fly the kites of sorrow
Some of them buried in the pit of inertia
Some drive the cars of despair into their tomorrows
While stale music propel
Those who wear the amulets of hope
Into mission of suicides
The train of frustration passes
On the rails of poverty and tears
The tired bodies of the dying
Have pocketed the will to live
In the grimy pockets of the aids virus
And wars
The clowns who tinker with your lives
Amass the zillions you need
To put a cheap smile on crying face
They fester on the consumable table of hypocrisy
Plundering the black crude that brings your resources
Buried armed robbers exhumed from the forest of ignominy
Only to deface our sleepy towns
With shiny posters of crass sycophants
But I still sit on the fence
Garbed with the rope of self-righteous zeal
Folding my arms and lips
While the story gets worse


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