Grayed temple, bowed by the weight of years,
You steady the foundation, guiding our legacy with silent prayers.
Rise, shoulder, engine of labor in the heat and rain,
Turning the grit of struggle into steel on every bustling street.
We hold the promise of a government of, by, and for the people, yet we sit in real life and stand only on Twitter, celebrating a lie every May 29th. While hunger drives our innovation, the poor find “no doors” to unlock through education.
The cost of living kills the living, and we have grown “Afro-deaf” to the cries of the common man. We struggle as the Naira falls, hampered by greed and a system where the judiciary is merely a “side chick” to the government.
Now rings the voice, piercing and shrill,
The teen’s cry demanding the brave and free.
A land of justice, not of creed or tribe,
Where schools and hospitals are pride, not bribe;
United, upright, we demand our due—
Restructuring our ideology to make democracy’s promise true.
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