Commercial ventures fall to decay,
Unrighteous judgment sits in our courts
Mediocrity paints our institutions
Hunger reigns in our streets
Our children sleep famished
Our youth bow in despondence
Our elders weep in shame
Our fields irrigated by rivers of innocent blood
Our farmlands blackened by fires of desolation
Our dreams of tomorrow evaporate swiftly
On the wispy clouds of hopelessness
All the while, our leaders are drunk
From sipping the Claret of grand larceny
Our book keepers gorge themselves;
Feeding fat on the ‘national cake’
Our high priests take the easy roads
They keep singing the ancient song,
“A ki i gbo ibi l’enu abore”,
“Let us continue to pray for our land”
And just when, when was it
That the figurehead last exhibited
Some semblance of lucidity?
Should we even expect the fog to dissipate?
When? Oh, when?
When will the drums of infamy cease their beat?
When will we stop shaking our waists
And stomping in this dance of dishonor?
*A ki i gbo ibi l’enu abore – the high priest never utters evil.
Written by: Lydia Abiodun
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.