Birthday or Deathday,
celebration of our escape from slavery,
yet in Shackles.
Giant of Africa they say,when in her womb are spoils of rotten breeds, Toothless young first sons,whom their names they tend to forget,
Nigeria, a woman endowed with alluring beauty,that men dare to snatch,
If only they know how bad her First sons are,
how they turned a woman with so much beauty into a perfect fiddle-faddle,
Turning a woman with diversified languages and hetrogenous children scattered around her feet,into a stock of mockery.
Did she raise them well? Yes she did,giving out all the love she's got,denying them nothing,yet greed and Long for power drags the souls of her first sons,whose feets wiggle of aging days,
Just like Adam&Eve,they fed from the fruit of corruption, nepotism and greed.
A Birthday or a Deathday,either way she's still dying.


© Annwrites