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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.
They 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
Donkingsson@yahoo.com