Our Farmland

In this farm where boats sail on oil, On overflowing oil, we yet live in a dream. The things we see should not be said The things we say should not be heard And the things we hear Are grossly absurd. Such absurdities as Trees growing upside down, Fishes fly and birds swim. The father and the son cannot Look in each other’s eyes again. Now we know they lied Without a twitch on their eye lids, to us When they said we elected them. They stole our trust and our treasury, They hijacked the future of children to come. The goats live by the fowls Or so they say But they are entitled to everything And the people nothing. They call themselves upper class And the people in nationwide broadcast, “Ordinary Nigerians, Common Man.” Alas, such puerile nomenclatures For my fellow countrymen. In this country of ours, Those we trusted with crowns and scepters Have shamed us with avaricious appetite for funds. They gather like gluttons at the capital To plunder the national pot of soup. Just like George Orwell’s animals, They are more equal than the people. So neither the bird Nor the tree branch can rest again.