In My Country, Yet I Stand. Poem by Aminat Opatola

Standing in my country on the bridge of sighs,
a palace and a prison on each hands.

I saw from out the waves her structures rise as from the enchanter's wand.
Like a thousand years its cloudy wings stands and dying glory smiles
yet in my country i stand.

Entroled by the horrors and slayers clads, thousands of deaths echoes in their voiceless woe, while eagles shoots at night into their feasting abditorys.

The niobe of nations,
there she stands,
childless and crownless in its voiceless woe.
An entity of lone mothers of vampires which holy dust was scattered in a long time years.

I do not spoil my country of its glorious existence but its like an empty precint puffed and reckess.
Unheartned stories of corruption, threats, kidnaps, rapes and death yet it stays silent like a songless gondolier.

Oh! Heven, bind our leaders to know the way to a gracious light and restore their reckless spine.
Its existence is crubling to the shore,
crushing to the mass of bricks,
fading out of sight and losting amidst the forestry of mast.

Embezzment of thrillions,
graduates without employments,
savages threatning innocent lives with bombs,
4 year old child hawking on streets,
husbands beating wives to death.
Oh yet! And yet,
in my country i still stand.