With the great mistake
it all started,
1914 was the year
this journey called Nigeria…
In the tropic jungles of africa,
on a microscopic patch of land;
brothers of a tortured soul,
borne out of two hegemonies.
Man and wife proclaimed without courtship,
a masterpiece or a disaster…?
Merchants, dealers and slaves,
vanguards of an imperial age.
sitted on kegs of gunpowder,
like fates, conspiring to keep us apart.
One hundred years their slaves,
we wept in complete obeisance
awaiting the return of the philosopher king
as time marched on.
Part II (100 years later)
In the return of the philosopher king we clung
if only we could forget…
A sage without shoes we crowned
placing him on a pedestal he was ill suited.
With the centennial award,
he drew us to this theatre of ridicule
and emptied a pail of faeces
upon our national heads;
an honour we dared not reject…
And Vigorously still we cheered
for such overflowing nothingness
So, take my letter to the queen
tell her to confess her sins
how a diverse people
man and wife she proclaimed without courtship.
For this house Lugard built
that glorious mistake…
like a grotesque relic from the past
would forever haunt us