After the lord mayor's show,
Independence-
We tasted sour militarization;
Like a boat on the Nile sailing
through life like a rural coastal,
kings of coincidences,we became -
Oil spills, barren farmlands,
Hopelessness substituted for optimism.
Sons of the soil,we were
but the soil never fed its children.
Kiriji blood spills......
Civil war......
Kano riot...
That was our tornado, our hurricane;
Our naked eyes saw blood,
dried lips sipped from death's cup,
innocent body danced to the
rhythm of gun fires -
We were dead alive.
My uncle wore the blue attire
even when he trespassed naught.
Detainment, free of charge?
"War against indiscipline"
they were spontaneous...
"Operation feed the nation"
my buddy because of hunger,
straight to abyss
Our tears were wavy,
our hearts, heavy
and our back, ladened.
We lived in the
city of broken survivors;
The sore of colonialism and
the bruises of militarization
met on our bare back
Penicillin of democracy, we used
but it will cure our bruises?
Wipe away our wavy tears?
Soften our hearts like rubber?
Time always heal but
ours add salt to our sores.
Militarization has been halted
but democracy isn't spraying
silent gun fires?
Poli-loothers in Aso rock....
Malaria and typhoid, like gun powder....
Potholes as deep as abyss...
Children with bloated stomach, barefooted....
Unemployment, radiant as the sun...
This isn't city of broken survivors?
Our boats have glided the
heavy wave of Nile too fast;
Let's move to the slow range!
Timothy
