by a well worn building,
looks like your flag,
in good voices,
young bloods of
pledge with might to -
serve, honour and protect
strives of their heroes past.
But something about you bothers me.
an oil rich earth
Mild sun rises, and unvels your
East's lush rain
In the North happiness
of your arable
a nation endowed,
yet I join many of
Why are we honoured among the poor?
Why should your
in rags importuning every passerby for alms?
Why are few very rich and many many paupers?
Your youths either turn deviants for want of jobs
sell themselves to brothels or gangs
or leave your shore for worse.
maybe 'ts the many tongues and tribes
of this land we call country.
We easily misunderstand our differences
split hairs over on-shore/offshore dichotomy,
each tribe the other a potential thief
itself an innocent victim besieged by scoundrels.
All these we shall someday our unborn tell
with what ears will they our shamed voices hear?
"Failure of leadership our tragedy".
land blessed by God, cursed by man.
You stand simple and proud
giving life, form and hue
to savannah's idyllic landscape
yet a complicated man-made confusion
a people that can't decide who they're.
Are you contemplating suicide
or turbulently managing Change?
May God save your sorry soul!