After 51 years

After 51 years, My country stands at the brink of disaster The Giant of Africa Hangs at the cliff of a mighty fall A nation, once a leader Threatens to become a loyal servant A nation once blessed with cerebrums Now frequently exported in intellectual trade. The story of befallen calamity Started 51 years ago They came benignly begging for approval Which we untacitly endorsed In rapturable spirits of enthusiasm Our people were brain-washed The citizenry were turned into oblivious beggars As they fine-tuned people's voices Into symphony of sycophants. The old and young both sang songs of praises Unaware of their befallen calamity, Unaware of the iceberg that hit the titanic As miscreants passed through the interim of power And become magnates and over-lords As the nation was plunged Into an enigma of corruption Thus the story went. The folktale of befallen calamity Is still sung into ears of new-born babies 51 years later. We are plied with poverty, misery and grieve While our leaders ail our previous condition A shadow of which we are We are caught in the snare Of the government's tom-foolery Without a seeming gleam of hope As we ply our trade In the market of corruption Thus the story went As the dawn breaks Every man thinks of how to satisfy The grumbling worms in his stomach Youths push the three-legged wheel of progress As they work out their existence on the highway Ladies are turned into ale Which is drank and paid for Midnight beggars offer themselves for sale In order to survive against extinction Thus the story went. After 51 years, The twenty-first century seems a long way ahead In a country far from civilization Freedom is offered as a vouch-safe As dexterity is rendered ineffectual Independence seems elusive As we writhe in familiar slavery In a country made For righteous thieves. After 51 years, We are still locked in a war To gain internal independence As we gradually trek from progress A hundred miles per second In a country where price is doubled And quantity slashed A black nation Where a few pray with cash as bible While many fast in faith. After 51 years, Many have ruled indisputable Claiming political power as theirs But, not one has succeeded In turning north into south And west into east Not one has successfully Assuaged hunger or defeated poverty But a hundred pounds man Becomes a four-hundred pound mongrel After tasting political power As the race continues To acquire power And do justice to peoples' tax. Within 51 years, Indigenes became indigent Miscreants became miserable Incentive became discentive Dexterity became dismality Scholars became truck pushers Genius became a plague upon mankind. After 51 years, The story still continues When will it end? When will I be proud To call myself a Nigerian? When will people stop buying shoes After graduating from the university? When will socks stop smelling After the day's work? When will we defeat poverty and hunger? When will we defeat corruption? His excellency, When will this story end? To be continued…