(For Nigeria at 65)
Another first day of another tenth month
Of yet another long year
The sun rose, wearily
From a sober corner of the sky
The rain this season
Is full and furiously free
The pampered lawns are glad
The battered roofs are sour
In other lands far, yet not-so-far
The sky rains red
From the cannibal carnival of ‘smart bombs’
By those who claim they own the world
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In this long-suffering country we call our own
Awash with pledges, submerged in prayers
For sixty years and five we have asked many questions
Waiting for their vital answers
The rich still too rich
The poor too poor
Our schools still un-schooled
Our hospitals are horse-spittles
Our country, nonetheless
With blessings so abundant
Waiting, still waiting, for
The Promise which succeeds the Pain