This tattered leaves shrink as it grows
with lulling children and sullen faced adults.
Who curse you O beloved country? Many
impersonates truth but clone with linings of fraud
incorporated with deceit and corruption perfumes.
How come your masses worn silence garments?
Can’t you see them holding ethnic drums and songs?
Parading the potholes of poverty on unoccupied street.
How come many can’t conceived the bluff of gold and grains of nature?
Instead blood flows the land like honey squash with grapes
faces buttered like a seasoning river, bandits and cultist marauds the street with flute to lull many to timely rest.
Your son’s rebels for self-aggrandizement
hearts are indoctrinated by religion and money rituals
Who have stripe your cloak of peace and progress?
O a new heritage plausible in kaftan and deltan clothing
Copyright 2019 by Martin Ijir
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