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Dirge for my Motherland
My
motherland! My motherland!
Well
situated, well populated.
Seasoned
with all kind of weather;
Favoured
with all kind of nature.
Blessed
so richly in nature
But
deformed sourly by nurture.
My
motherland! My motherland!
You
are like a merchant ship
Heavily
laden with precious merchandise
Yet,
badly stirred by her captains
Who
set sail without compass
Heading
somewhere with no destination.
My
motherland! My motherland!
Decades
roll over themselves now
After
your maturity sets in and you left
The
cradle of your mother to be a queen.
You
dreamed of birthing princes and princesses
And
by divine help you were delivered of them.
You
are made a proud mother in the League of Nations.
My
motherland! My motherland!
You
built for yourself a reputation
And
your children brought to you congratulations
As
your neighbours find in you solace.
Your neighbours were fed and nurtured to maturity
And
fled to build themselves a nation
That
competes with their succor sometimes ago.
My
motherland! My motherland!
What
aileth thee all these long years?
What
take you so long in rising?
Your
princes and princesses are waning down
Sorely
beaten down by the twigs of penury
Aggravating
restiveness and vices
Turning
you into a habitation of chaos
And
matchless insecurity and fears.
My
motherland! My motherland!
History
has unraveled the root of your setback.
You
have been burdened with sequence of sick heads
Who
led you into obscurity instead of the limelight
Though
you dreamt your princes and princesses
Would
live and reign with pride undisturbed.
How
far they have derailed from the lovely path
And
have given the whole body the pain of their migraine!
My
motherland! My motherland!
Everyday
you hype and hope for a change.
You
look up for a good head to lead the coaches
Among
your princes and princesses you have groomed.
You
wanted to have one with integrity and purpose.
But
those heads cancerously ill with self-interest
Blur
those who have genuine dream for your land.
You
strain your eyes and hope you would fine.
My
motherland! My motherland!
A
number of your brood without hood
Craves
awards, position and power with the tag untouchables.
They
erect mansion with injustice, corruption, seduction.
Relinquishing
power is a disease they badly dread
Even
though they can feel the threat from an evil eye.
How
their insatiable greed have mutilate and denigrate their land
Is
what their reasoning failed to catch up with.
My
motherland! My motherland!
How
long shall the march go before you attain
The
values you so wantonly preach but not acted upon?
Who
will put an end to this endless march to séance?
You
take a procession every year as to a sanctuary
But
you find yourself dabble in darkness.
Despite
your rich gifts of nature and population
You
are poorly dressed, housed and fed.
My
motherland! My motherland!
The
greenness that beautifies your borders
Lay
waste while your progeny swoon away in hunger.
The
silver lines of nature that anchors your land
Dries
away unproductively as dearth snatch you children away.
Underneath
you lay gold of diverse colours
But
they are being sold out for no profit to no one
Impoverishing
yourself and your brood.
My
motherland! My motherland!
You
are furnished with greatness yet untapped,
Companies
and industries lay waste
In
the mind and boards of your inhabitants
While
idleness and joblessness create so many a weaklings
Turning
a great deal of potentials into invalids and rascals.
The
aged dressed themselves like babies;
With
dear faded dreams they blur the vision of the young.
My
motherland! My motherland!
You
are like a beautiful bride processing to an asylum.
I
hope you will find a psychiatrist that would
Medicate
for you to put your psyche in right order.
You
are like a mother without the strength
In
the time of delivery of her long awaited baby.
Shoving
and waning, your expectation dwindles
And
slides down into the sea of hopelessness.
My
motherland! My motherland!
I
pray for you each day I recall your position.
You
are beautiful! You are great!
I
pray that you will have a good head to lead
Your
good prodigy into a great nation.
One
day The DIVINE hand will furnish you
With
your pride, desire, dream on your table
Then
you will stride and strut in the street as a mother would.
Don
F. B