A Cry For My People

A people are born.
Born to be vast.
It's sheer non-sense as I speak because it feels we should run.
Making us think we are the last.
The liquid gold of my land is snatched upon by the thieves.
They do this to elevate their wealth.
I laugh at them with anger because its mischief.
I know what the heroes of my land felt.
They economy of the thieves sag.
They are behind in all and they lag.
Their leader runs and runs, he stays in a lair.
We were supposed to work in a pair.
Lack of intellect and military mind made us to be in despair.
Conflict everywhere, the invaders in the south-south and north.
Leaving the thieves shallow and easy to devour.
Our rights are quenched by their roars.
They look directly in our eyes, no fear but bold.
Leaving our born activists cold.
In the beginning they came, they saw, they conquered.
A nation blessed by God, left deserted.
Too smart they won, I call this deceit.
Still, we have past deeds we call feat.
It didn't just come neat.
We fought for the treat.
The people of my land are cold.
Cold enough that some are sold.
I am one of the very few who are bold.
A young poet I need to be told.
Told the truth about ages of our old.
My people look with your mind thinking and not chasing gold.
Freedom doesn't come with you arms fold.
Not even a miracle can save us from this hold.
The hold too powerful, it is a load.
A load we have to bear to the end of the road.


Jan Wienen

Not all ... not all .......

Collins Egwu