BLOOD

From the restive
And riverine terrains
Of Okorenkoko
And Oghulagha
To the religious
And Saharaic sands
Of Sokoto
And Daura.
From those
Hidden bunkers
In the East
To the great rocks
Of Olumo and Idanre
On the other side…
And round about
Is our country soiled.

Soiled with the flow
Of fresh red blood.

We spill too much.
The bloody altar of crises
Is growing redder and redder
Many barrels of blood
Cannot appease her.
The gods of illiteracy is thirsty,
Longing for fresh blood
From the veins
Of many youths.

We spill too much
And the smell is in the air.
The taste is strong.
The coppery taste of blood
In our mouths is real.
For the god of exploitation
Has grown beards in our land.

We spill too much.