Oil

here where oil greases the growing yawn of lack, and its glistening stagnation stretches sorrows night, how can the days be willing to unfold? here where time and again despair seizes the hero by the throat and hurls him upon misery` s spear, how can hope be willing to be fed? how will freedom lift up her voice? when will the captives` cry be attended? when will songs of joy be danced in these somber vales? in this place where `black gold' slumbers in nature` s arms, and life seem as a passing tale, when will the Niger-Deltans know the shout of victory? when will they know the laughter that the sons of pleasure know?