Towards a tide we march
Our legs sink deep
Days crumble over nights
Eyes served spicy chillies
Tears surmount my retina

Our Mother nation at dismal
Lost in the middle of the sea
Fate take us towards the whirlpool
We swim frenetically towards our waterloo
With tragedic smiles on our faces

Minds remain on the qui vive
A drop of water instills fear
Infants sneak in their mothers arms
A foot on the ground comes with trembling
For the land might lay ahead, famished

This is the demon we fed
Our hands have bore us distress
Our negligence have brought us pity
The iroko is better destroyed young
For even the sharpest sword might not be it's match.

Time has come to curate ourselves
And conflate with value, truth
The clock ticks in seconds
Days climb on days
Time remains with us an enemy.



© Yusuf Muhammad