Singing Our Dirges Alive Poem by Tony Adah

Born into a British cradle
My country full of tribes and tongues
Hobbles on crutches all the time
Though our pulse and will be gone
In citizen's toils,
There's no claim as such on us.
We struggle under the sun or rain
Still we have nothing to show
Even when oil flows in iron veins
Traversing the land,
It is either the dirges
Of our coming death or the songs of
The fallen ones,
We that will die
Those that will follow
And all yet to kiss the mortal lips
There can be no other
Country like ours.