Nigeria: Our Story At 52 Poem by Babalola Augustine Adeola

The unseen hands at work.
To build... To destroy.
Changing and changing,
with no change.
At 52.

The pregnancy of our dreams,
all to the doctor's hospital.
Sustanance? No.
Abortion? Yes.

At 52 years of marriage,
no sign of a new life yet.
But thanks to the birth of divorce threat.
And for the unseen hands,
saving us from the cliff.
Still in search of reasons to be united,
but for the unseen hands.

The labour of our heros
dancing bàtá in the valley of vain.
Our streets flooded from the rains
of the innocent blood.
Not for our better,
but their pride and ego.

Taxis giving way for trucks and lorries.
Bomb taking banger
place
at chrismas and new year celebration.
With generators, rulling both our days and nights.
With chicken rearly appearing on our tables.
Who cares?

At 52, we can not even refine anything refinable.
But for our great achievements?
All ended on the conference table.

Despite all this,
i will continue to pray for you.
My dear country and home land.
God bless Nigeria!