Where we live
We keep on celebrating thieves,
Applaud them as our heroes past
Even crown them Chiefs
The land in which we live is one of ironies
The minister for health runs overseas
In attempt to stitch his broken ribs.
In our pharmacies poisons are sold
Cheaper than medicines,
Medicines costlier than gold
This is the situation we’ve found ourselves
Where lecturers are always on strike,
Yet they claim
Our graduates are half baked.
Permit me to ask,
Do breads bake themselves?”
Our land is rotten- okputu
Maggots seem to have a panel ad-infinitum
A sight so appalling
My feet are tempted for a-running
But where do I go from here?
Do I go to the left
Where nothing is right,
Or the right
Where nothing is left?
Written by Obiene Solomon, Creative Writer
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