The poem revolves around current security lapse in Nigeria and its devastating impact on people and property.
This chaos gnawing at us now deepest
to the marrow, reins without restraint,
in a land prosperous on a pivot of peace,
a land whose splendor – spiels of prayers,
we claim are harness of our humble home.
What seemed to have clipped the golden
pinions of prayers that would hover high,
spray succor and soothe the aching land?
Now, like strayed sparks of emitting embers
bellowed by a wicked wind, bird of peace’s
vanishing in the thickness of a sullied air.
Now, like there was never our piece of pride,
we wallow, we ache, we grieve disappearances
of siblings, spouses, folks before our own eyes.
Thrown in disarray, raving round
raking ransom for their right returns;
some so unlucky – gunned and gone,
we grieve upon guts of their graves.
We wail, we ache, we grieve attacks on
our own homes, towns by our own brethren,
in broadness of days and bareness of nights.
How much longer? How much more…?
We lurch amidst launches of chaos and crises
that wear us thin; we wish this off will wear.