Nigeria, my country.
Frankly I don’t know where to start,
Should I begin by calling you out for every single thing wrong with you?
Or should I start by praising you?
I may get from the masses who daily suffer at your hands
From the wife of a farmer brutally slaughtered for the sake of cows
Or from the youths who walk aimlessly
Searching for non-existent jobs,
Dying of hunger and want
While the lords sit in luxurious cars with tainted glasses
Blind to the sufferings of others.
I thought of a good thing to praise you for
But unfortunately I couldn’t remember any
I guess that may make me seem unpatriotic
But sincerely that’s what I am.
I’m just a girl who feels nothing about her place of birth.
I’m just a girl living as each day comes
Not surprised by any news.
I’m just a girl tired of it all.
It may get better,
It may get worse
This is Nigeria after all…
- An apprentice in wordsmithry.