A birthday mate of the rain
Existing before the occurrence of the reign
Of optic fibres
Ground intruding electric wires
She lived and lubricated the terrains
Of hidden deep earth-embedded maze
Flowing through the creeks
Into the pockets of those with colours of the greeks
Economy draining into the sink
Even before the next blink
Our sales done in ecstasy
Has defecated nemesis
Is selling our black gold the basis;
To keep Azikiwe's legacies?
Fishes in the caskets down the river
Children with bloated bellies that can't deliver
the chill of black liquid on red earth makes it shiver
Sniff! Doom is here, who will deliver?
Upon her never-oiled back we hanged
now, we fall like weightless rags
Boma's oil spat a boomerang
Ring! Ring! Her phone rang;
"Not available," her network sang
The black liquid no longer exist under the sand
Wife of the red earth
You flirted with the deep sunken rod
Your value, Miss Man has gulped
Algebraic and Socratic heads yet to learn to calculate and derive your worth.
Does oil coil the trachea till breathing foils?
Does it strip Naijairia naked and inflict her with boils?
Give rusty reward for toil?
Blessing and cursing our soil?
But, its not her fault
Its Miss Man
Who didn't know what time and waste meant
He opens up his uterus and delivers Mismanagement
Who cuddles mismanagement and never gets bent?