This city is lost

Burried in ancient pillars of wine and lust

Feuding on blood and utter disgust

Their pride is in being lost



This ancient city has Burried many kings

Youths lost in their revolt for drinks

Selling nothing but death to the weak

Choking whomsoever wants a new rethink



This city has lost its value

Bathing in past glories, lost in its avenue

Youths perishing on faltering retinue

It's grandeur is suffering rot! Must this continue?



What epitaph of rotteness is this

Rotten beings eponymous to a deity

As melee in anxiety

This is no mellifluous meld of praise!...pity!



Is there a legacy left?

Or a dance with meerschaum of advance theft?

If nothing stops this trend of maudlin deft

Where none appreciates nor complain this drift


Calabar with its alluring landscape

with blood feuding on the sands about to escape

into oblivion, for none to arrest the scape

To warn the young and elders to escape



This city has lost its ideals

Fleecing their children and feeding them peril

Fathers dancing in absent degree

Offering nothing but violence...that's the disease



How lofty are the ideals of this land

Sinking the youths in bands

Old men progressing and dancing as planned

While decay catches up the youths of the land

I expected something inspiring, this speaks of hopelessness and decay. It is not the Calabar south that I know

Calaber south DAT I was born and brought...
Calaber Na the place to be