Niger Delta’s myth hope

Like the mirage of an Oasis,
To a fainting Wanderer in a desert,
The hope of emancipation to a region deserted,
It is a holy gambling devoid of basis.

Like the barren dews the morning,
That within a squeeze of lemon evaporates,
Still the biting reality of hunger operates,
Amidst fratricidal war, while victims are mourning,
Death and pestilence hunting citizens, as they are running.

Alas! a voice roared:
My black gold only lubricates,
The economic wheels of our ill-fated oppressors.

After many years of cascading blood bath,
Blood of the Isaac Boros, the Akassa raids,
The Nana isekeris the Aloomas, the king Jajas, the ovaremis, the obolos, the Edehs
The Mbiras, the obas, the pepples.
Yet, adamant the indomitable ears of the oppressors.

Now a region punctuated with acute hunger,
That smokeballed into acidic anger,
A region gavarished with natural splendour,
Yet, subjugated to tenacious labour,
Injected with unsterilized syringes of marginalization,
That panel beated her skin beyond medication.

In anguish of pains, she raised a cry for solace,
But only to be offered a palliative treatment,
And it seems the doors of heaven cast with concrete pavement.

Who then shall intercede and seek solace ?
She nurses severe pains, greater than pains of child labour,
And daily she salivates for undiluted succour.

Weeping and lamenting, she wonders in the desert,
She roams hopelessly in the oil swamps of Olobiri,
Sleeping on the boiling pipes of the Ogonis oil forest,
Infected with flu she opted for warmth in the Elele forest,
Still, roasting instalmentally, with the oil flames of Eleme,
As the ball of her eyes, sinking with oil the tears of Nembe.

Their ships queue while her offsprings remain motionless,
The oppressors of bunkry, yet they remain shameless,
Economic sabotage, disguised nation-building, they remain heatless,
The struggle over black Gold, our federalism remains meaningless,
They metamorphosed into Bourgeoisies, now they remain homeless,
Patiently and obstinately she follows the
oppressors,
LIke a paparazzo amidst the thunderstorm of pollution.

indeed, obsessed with acute spills from her aquatic terrain,
From the insurgent waves of the Oyorokoro Atlantic ocean,
To be rebellious water current of the estuaries of Sangana,
Now, there is massacre of the fishes dying in
instatements,
Yet, the moon ignored her, for she has a flabby grip of her treasure.

She groans daily under the load of sorrow, refusing to be consoled,
As the hot pipes of the exploiters like a furnace of fire,
Sinks into her lonely heart, she is now in vegetable existence,
No more fluids of life, she wears pallid complexion with flaccid breast,
Only, a constitutional beggar, along the road of rotational presidency,
Taking refuge underthe south-south geo-political tree.
Alas! heads roll in thousands and bow to the oppressors’ sword.

Source1: http://guia.clarin.com/music-verdic/usuario
Source2: https://5e99b3fa5ecf9.site123.me/articles/learn-how-to-mp3-download-works
Source3: https://profile.onliner.by/user/2888726
Source4: https://buddypress.org/members/bigkodex/profile/