Conversation of a Nigerian with Nigeria

Written by: Oludipe Samuel

Uncertainty, 'grand potentate', 
swathes my lure
For renewed insight. I dropp 
upon
My groove, primed, to settle my 
lot. Help! 

Modest citizen. Our battles, 
girthed
For selfish intent, lunges at your 
faceless sense.
We have rasped our own 
reasons from
Bullets impassive, gratifying bills
Upon your waters of slackness 
tethered slow

He, skirmished hearer to define 
this
Wit-flourished folly, clasps 
sweaty palms, 
Murmurs chrysalis of half-
hearted wishes: 
I slack to lack, vision spires for 
tatty hope
Tosses my insight upon starved 
ambiance. Help! 

No thrill, no ornate flight for 
thought, 
Just one 'grand potentate' nods 
frugal, 
Spreads fancy upon polished 
strips

We saw you lose route upon 
hundreds and
Tin and columbite- we glimpsed 
sprouts
Of your self-righteous mutiny 
kindled
By flat angst.
We falter at your gates of 
defiance.

Fifty-two fetid years, freshly dour 
for me, 
Turns my flesh to scales. Forgive, 
'grand potentate'
To fling at me abundant pellets, 
lost or left.
Of grisly death I sniff, brash and 
fierce
Fifty-two fetid years flame my 
scales

We must fling pellets, but now, 
your allies
Must bolt their greed against 
your waters, hassled
And strew you nether with 
backward tides

A resurrected applause in steep 
praise. His cabinet
Indulges my lassitude to forbear 
further
Moans and tears
Fifty-two flaming years, will me 
not, sheer contortion
Only one stirred heart to fight 
along many