Mine is a brimming bin of peculiar mess
Mine is re-branding it penkelemesi.
The attempt to purify a pig by ablution,
The imagery of nation as a cauldron in ebullition.
Mine is a country where nothing seems to work
Mine are carapaces amongst whom corruption walks.
The sloganizing of our cut-to-size Lilliputian heights
The irony is, we’re bad example of a Good People.
Mine is the story of some discrepancy
Mine is the obligation to tell it with accuracy
The conflagration and macabre in the hall of shame
The shame of committing the bill of right to flame.
Mine is the wrongly avowed bill of rights
Mine the re-enforcement of the sacred ramparts
The fundamental truth has been made null
The fall and fall of a statute that once stood tall.
Mine isn’t the leadership of meritocracy
Mine is the security that gave room for conspiracy
The un-enforcement was due to my somnolence
The non-ratification is result of my senseless silence.
Mine is the rule of masque and legalese
Mine the protection by an immunity clause
The smoke-screened illusion of rose-tinted views
The concept of servant-king was nought but ruse.
Mine is the country where the rule is obnoxious
Mine are compatriots that are yet gregarious
The grandiloquent autocracy makes me sombre
The people’s vain hypocrisy makes me cower.
Mine is the back-on-the-wall mentality
Mine is so long a suffering with magnanimity
The suffraging of my seared conscience
The desecration of my sacerdotal perseverance.
Mine is representative rulers in the posters
Mine a fruitless palaver with those impostors
The despot comes back in power, with the whole crew
The same gang that worked on our thumbscrew.
Mine is the country where dispute festers
Mine is an husbandry breeding fraudsters
The morality of peace-time beating of war-drums
The harvest of basketful of undue conundrums.
Mine is a disenfranchised order of electors
Mine the teeming stable of impostors
The vote I cast was subject to rancour
The medal I won, surely is of another honour.
Mine are the eyes that have seen it
Mine is the nose that has smelt it
The sight and deeds of corruption
The stench of gamut of bloated putrefaction.
Mine is the shoulder which bore the yoke
Mine is the bent back that yet is broke
The throes, the labour, with much equanimity
The decree yet stripped me of my humanity.
Mine is the broken heart that bore the pain
Mine it was never, ever to complain
‘The die is cast’ and I languish in deep sorrow
The many regrets sting me to the marrow.
Mine is the prison that is congested
Mine the citizens continuously convicted
The antiques of our justice is immemorial
The enjambment of inmates awaiting trial.
Mine are patients dying from fake drugs
Mine the quacks and barons peddling drugs
The suffering of NAFDAC’s trying efforts
The vain unrelenting of Akunyili’s fights.
Mine is upstream sector that’d soon close shop
Mine the down-stream energy flared for chop I chop
The oligarchization of our wealth resources
The abstractization of an economy in neurosis.
Mine is a million megawatts of pipe-dream
Mine is choking cry of up… and down, NEPA!
The maga-mago godfathers and their boys scouts
The idiosyncratization of intractable blackouts.
Mine the slogan of ‘Great Nation, Good People’
Mine the bigots causing goose-pimples
The size of the country is so very great,
The people are yet to get the figures right.
Mine is the wait, like “Waiting For Godot”
Mine the virtue of waiting with clenched teeth
The falling of our eyes’ scales will make us see
The year of rejoicing comes in Jubilee.