At 52 Poem by James T. Abel Adesitimi

Dear Nigerians,
Since our birth from
slavery
what've we gathered?
Our collective-aims are
to fly high on earth
What are we doing on
this pluto?
Our political-pilot s are
piloting us
flap and flap in a zig-zag
direction
Holding false-
conferenc es
Far from the madding
crowd
Though they carry no
gun
But they used their
pens to rob the masses
stealer of our warchest
'Building bridges over
atlantic'
'Railway tracks in the
sky'
'Beneath the sand for
air-port'
'Exporting cocoa,
importing Tea'
Inflation the national
husband of our
precious-petrol
They remove our pain-
killer
Putting mountains on
our heads to carry
All in the name of
moving forward
The tree of our seven
points agenda
That are planted by our
pregnant-pilots
On our promising field
They've all withered
Dear pilots,
The wings of our air-
plane have broken
since you must repair it,
why stagnant?
Stop celebrating
birthday in the jungle!
Let us repair her wings
and fly-high
No room for celebration
cos today is not our day.