Conversation of a Nigerian With Nigeria
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
Copyright © Oludipe Samuel | Year Posted 2012
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