NI
GE
RI
AN
A
Your name scythe through our
larynx
wedged with clog of wheel and
woes
At the tabernacle of the Orient gods
In droves we run for succour
To flee the flaming fire of Haram
Beched from the psyche of anomy
N
I
G
E
R
I
A
N
A
Lugarded with the seed of
loathness and discord
Smeared with ilk of tribal
dichotomy
Hailed as faithfuls in th South,
Infidels in the North
Indigenes in the East, strangers in
the West
Offsprings of Eve abroad
Vipers against adders at home
Standing on mount Heaven
I look back to the gate of your
maiden journey
Vastland of odious sloughs
Smouldering lawns cocooned with
anthills
Bereft of twillight dews
N-I-G-E-R-I-A-N-A
At the tabernacle of the Orient gods
In droves we run for succour
But,
STILL WE RISE

Nice