Aquaruim

My country is an aquarium of boiling fishes,

With lungs blocked we strive for breathing license

In my country we struggle to survive

So we step on each others eyes just to stay alive

My country is a painting colored in confusion

A photograph composed of blurriness

Sermon of doom;

A half slice of average

Do not ask us the reason for our deficiency

For even we search for hope like a missing budget

But then I love it

I fall in love with the beauty in it’s ugliness

With the fumes of pateince the firewood releases

Everytime my hand embraces the balls Akara sold by the roadside retailer

I love the citizens

Those who stand in the queue of destiny

Waiting to receive their national cake

Each one for his pocket

Each man for his agenda

But my long dark hair doesn’t just retain water

It retains optimism

That one day my country will shake hands with truth

And understand the true meaning of independence

I’ll grow my hair for my country

Make my scalp ferile soil for growth

And let the roots nourish up to the tip

Maybe then my country will free itself from itself