By Niyi Osundare
Have we reached that stage
Where patriotism has become the other word for suicide
And the wisdom which sustains a nation
Is now the weakness of the foolishly devout
Have we lost all the difference
Between night and day
That now, like bats from blinding bowers,
We stumble through the light?
Are our trousers really longer
Than our legs now
When, indeed, it is our legs that stray
Too high beyond their base
“I am nude, not naked”,
Says Shakara of the sinuous stride
The quarrel between me and the wayward wardrobe
Lies hidden in the simmering shadows
Those who have feet long for
The golden pavement of vanished cities
But how long can the cobbler last
In the empire of footless soldiers
They who hit us most
Are the ones who demand our loudest praise
How can we master the divinity of love
In a country that preaches the gospel of hate?