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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When you get to Africa, Say me well to my mother, Nigeria; The blood that birthed my braveness. Let her know that I have not forgotten her, I have made my mouth a talking drum here To talk until the earth hear my bleeding words. Tell her that my eyes longs to see her again, Tell that I heard about the missing Chiboks, The sweet handiwork of the lost Herdsmen; The price of her crude endowment here I am. Tell her I heard also about the missing budget, But I'm waiting on my pleas to our creator. I have written to God a letter of intervention, Tell her I will keep talking until the dust here Recognises my brave voice; voice of Vincent. I have not abandoned her like the others did, I seek for a brilliant solution to her plight here. Tell me that I care a lot about her well being. In people's face she looks like maid, misery in fate. At dawns and night they fetch mockery on her To the ages resting under the shoulder of prime, I know at every second in a year she cries a lot, She sings to the flute of gloomy sun to the fool; Highly stranded in the city of pride by faded dream. Not even shinning sun winks to her sight, Tell mother that I care, I care about her brother. I take thought not of her offspring spread here, Sit with a colourful wings and cover her, She will be great again when greediness is gone. I miss a lovely dear mother here in a foreign land. When you get to Africa, Say me well to my mother, Nigeria; The blood that birthed my braveness. Let her know that I have not forgotten her, I have made my mouth a talking drum here To talk until the earth hear my bleeding words. (C) John Chizoba Vincent Voice Of Vincent 2016
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