Nigeria—which way out?

We're embers—

dying relics of what 

we used to be. 

Nations splash mud at us, mocking us. 

Our tails are tucked between 

our hides, & our roars

reduced to mere whimpers.

Hope—

so high it stretches 

beyond our reach. 

It expands even further 

as we grow up 

& we watch it

dangle from the ceiling. 

Now, we are desolate 

as we walk on the paths of gold

now paved with the brightest mud, 

while our glory days look on at us

with pretend pity

and stony smiles. 

Our achievements

are like gaping rags now—

no shiny success for the future foetus. 

Aye, we're fading ashes—

a dying remnant. 

©Mayoress 

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