The Umbrella and the Broom (A Lamentation By Ogbo Awoke Ogbo) Woe unto Nigeria! They come to you with an umbrella and a dance But heartless they leave you under the rain And the sun does smite you by day And the moon by night For the umbrella is fraternal Till you swear to their god Sell your soul Or stay in the rain Woe unto Nigeria! They come to you with political pentecost Speaking in tongues of sugar and salt Gorgeous smiles from the gap Seductive spectacles of curious art They punch the air with guilty fists In their hand is a promising broom But in their hearts is a frightening Ak47 For their broom is but a guise for the sword And their cash is but a trap For the dead yet alive Woe unto Nigeria! Should the umbrella repeat The land shall bear the stealing no more But the eucalyptus shall be uprooted And the Y-shaped cord crack The cactus will spit its spines The secrets of the dead will manifest The fetters of the jailed shall loosen And the prisoner shall stroll back to his ancestor Woe unto Nigeria! Should the broom taste the esteemed rock Groan like a woman in childbirth Yet, you bring forth not a man child But a cold-blooded vertebrate Our fathers knew not Destination Nigeriastan, everyone! Oh, Middle Belt, do you yet sleep? For the broom-turned sword seeks you first Woe unto Nigeria! For to vote one is a baptism in a boiling bath To vote other is a rinse in cold acid O, Conundrum! Vote one and install a big cat over the kingdom of fish Vote other and enshrine a band of aggrieved power pirates Prepare, O hell, for the proud woman scorned Fortify, O people For the revenge of thieves Be afraid, O Nigeria For the fury of recycled brooms and bandits Cheated in the loot under the umbrella Oh, Nigeria! For once, shine gold dust off your eyes Is this your last chance? Is this your decimal point? My soul is distressed By the siege of demon men Over a land so blessed, so cursed Wake up, Nigeria! For the dusty wind of Sahel is near Rest not your hope in Bonny Light - your fatal lover For your future is not in the ballot But in hearts of youth forgotten Your future is on the surgeons table Shall it wake? Shall it die?
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 09:30:39 +0000
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