By TINAFEST

‘Bi-af-ra, oh my fatherland,

a lofty country in the eastern coast.

The brainbox in the pile of rubbish.

 

Boisterous and bubbly, yes you are,

desolate and lonely they wish you were.

To be mighty and blessed is the work of destiny,

suppressors and oppressors could not prevent.

 

Sweat and blood are the prices for freedom,

and time you’ve made the payment,

and time and time your captor have failed.

 

With the power of the pen, you request your freedom,

with AK-47 your captor responded.

They call you terrorist, they call you rebels,

and all in all to cover their shenanigans.

 

Your marriage was forced, and now it’s staled.

The tiny fine line has turned to cracks.

The cracks have widened beyond repair.

And all you ask now is a quick divorce.

 

They battered your identity and murdered your suckling;

they poked your eyes to stop your tears.

Of all the places they chose your land

to operate the Python of dancing style.

The rhythm of the flutes, drums, and cymbal

were all replaced with the rain of bullets.

 

How painful, how horrible to watch your youths

as they slumped in numbers in final submission.

You bent down your head and poured out your grief,

but you know for sure, Chukwu Abiama is watching.

 

In all in all, they have a purpose to exterminate your people,

your country and your pride.

Desperate in purpose to carry out a carnage to decimate BIAFRA, while the world sleeps.’

 

TINAFEST  (2019)`