The Gbagi, in divine dance, move,
Nupe voices sing, rhythms prove,
Hausa relish their gooey fare,
While I, a wandering soul, do dare.
Not a drop, though April's here,
At thirteen, she's betrothed, literacy unclear.
Long nights, short days, in May's hot embrace,
Sweat flows like summer's fervent chase,
Like sunrise, I yearn for a new grace.
I hear the wind's clarion call,
Echoes eerie, as if from a cemetery's sprawl.
The heavens sing, seemingly insane,
Yet on the 7th, still no rain.
As the sun sets, crime holds its domain.
Religion shapes the North's very core,
Mockery may lead to a chilling encore.
Your head may spin in fear's dread,
To Tradition's grip, where paradise turns lead.
Tuwo and okra, the day's delight,
Pap and bean cakes greet morning light,
Delicacies await with coins paid,
Donkwa adds protein, from peanuts laid.
Now in my bed, where dreams take flight,
Prayers whispered in the still of night,
Awaiting dawn, a new day's gain,
Then remember, I serve my land's reign.
Thanks to spirits, on April's 13th, it rained.
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