Let's stop casting blame on the giant
cock that crows before the waking dawn.
Our mother is sick and needs our prayers,
Nigeria is falling like a pack of cards.
Don't lay down there and weep for nothing,
Don't shout in the grievous hospital yard.
Silence! Silence!! They told us before noon,
But the woman laying sick there is our mother!
Without her the rain would drench us more.
Gather the fowls in the field and pray hard,
I have done my own part in making my mouth
A talking drum that sound far and wide to be heard.
Don't put your words in your right hand but
Keep it peacefully on the left like a king,
So you don't throw it into mouth like a morsel.
Mother is dying and she needs our prayers,
Let those that have good legs come out to dance,
Those that have savored mouth should sing,
Let's roll up the mat of her suffering before morning
The jungle could serve as a home to the demons
That torment our most loved mother.
Those that knows how to scream
Savor your throat with a sweetened honey,
Seven thounsand joyful songs can restore her.
The mountains are waiting to see us,
The valleys have gathered up the sun to serve us in
The night as the vigil may take days to end.
If there is any joy in peace or freedom,
If there is any documented fire here,
Don't hunt and haunt for the sanity,
The boundary between sanity and insanity
Is too tiny and must be observed by all.
Mother is sick and feeble in point of death
And most of her children are busy merry here.
Who is praying for mother Nigeria among you?
The long timeline behind us can become a lifeline,
Sound the drum in the four corners of the world
That our mother is sick and we don't know how to cure her!
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
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