59 Years Of…?

A golden jubilee and nine
we still claim to be fine.
Though we are pained to the spine
yet we celebrate with wine.

Is this a joke?
How can zobo be coke?
Or a gunshot be a poke?
Daily our hearts are provoked
and our identities revoked.

We fought for freedom,
for the hope of a kingdom
that will be led by wisdom;
and lo, we celebrate economic boredom.

Of aging integrity,
Of raging youths,
Of menopausal polity,
Of refusal truths;
at 59 we’ve only got dirt.

And we blamed the Lugard,
the queen of Anglo Saxon.
We blamed past tenures
for all our present demeanors.

And day one of month ten
becomes our day of Amen.
We sing the national anthem
with voices connoting mayhem.

And our heroes’ past
gave us clue so vast
to heal our present cast,
but we consented to be last
as other nations are running fast.

And 59 years of progress?
We’ve got Big Brother congress.
We’ve got educational duress.
We’ve got health retrogress.

How can we stop the torment
when we claim to enjoy the moment?
How can we make things right
when we praise our present plight?

Though darkness is all we see
as independence stung us like bee.
But we can regenerate like a tree
that was cut down into three.

Why not share?

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