We are the debris of yesterday’s war
Making our present a memory of yore
Fighting for our portion in the past
While our future submit to waste
We are the agents of opprobrium
That sold our land to booty museum
Under the faraway sun that scorched
While we stained holes for the elected
We are the laces on the shoes of regrets
Trekking towards initial decision’s gates
Ignorant of power being absolute here
But, learned from scenes on Balewa’s Square
We are soft-heads of our dying homeland
That recalls colonialism to our fatherland
Under the shade of leadership abeyance
To the matter that flows in our cozy veins
We are the living unborn that starve alive
In the presence of abundance like a slave
Marching soulfully like gullible zombies
To quarters of orders from aging fathers
We are the tears dropping from the graves
Flooding our streets with past victories
As the stage set by labour of heroes past
Seeks performance by contemporary cast
We are the labourers on the vast land of terror
Waiting for harvesters from the city of horror
This time, they might leave us only homeless
And not make us suffer from hopelessness
We are the famous sleeping giant of now
Leveraging on failures to take the front row
Standing on the pinnacle of lasting shame
Claiming corruption as wealth and fame
But, we are the generation that dwells in hope
Sacrificing our nights for our menaces to stop
We are what God says we are
And what He says we are is who we truly are!
Written by:
James Ademuyiwa JamesConco (@Jamesconco)
http://www.jamesademuyuwa.blog.com | http://www.knowitnow.com.ng
The Peregrine Reads 