Tensed Poem by Olorode Olorunleke

Daily my heart groans for the mystery it sees,
Not of the miracle of Christ but of what we are cloned,
That the sword in our hands is the staff of the merchants,
Solely for the interest of the overlord.

Not as it is laid in their territory the youths on tweak for labour,
Had it been this independence is not made of
The existence of this generation won't have been cut off
No joy in degree till you are squeeze to match to their habour.

When will this mystery cut off from us less it cut off our head,
No place of refuge for all are the foe of themselves,
The fear of not being query is laid
in the heart of members against attending the event of others.

Yet the grand master declared to love each-other,
Even the one that proclaims to be enemy,
Non in obedience make this greater,
And they all while witch hunting put us in mummy.

Will this continue cos in groaning our cry do make,
Not as the Israelite on the way to Canaan?
This generation is wearing with no essence of landmark,
Dear divine heal our land and not to regret being Nigerian.