Sitting at the corner of the world,
Breathing my breath with little space;
Covering the front page of life, yet unseen.
Filled with pasture, yet devoured of poverty.
The little big home of mine,
Where our fathers toiled for progress,
Our leaders looted the pasture.
Leaving our hope in disdain and anger.
Hopeful was our fathers’ wishes,
Looting was our leaders’ thought,
Better tomorrow, our hope for success.
But was there hope for success?
After Balogun has concealed our safety.
The Oyomesi has allotted our proceed,
Either to them or their offspring.
Making our fathers a subordinated clones,
Having little progress to show.
All in the name of leadership.
Even if the Alaafin has good intent,
And the Aare Ona Kankafo intended for our safety.
Will the Oyomesi justify it’s action.
Which corrupted the Alaafin’s intention.
Hence, anarchy toppled the state.
Giving apparatus to the White,
Enslaving our tradition and thought.
Which indeed distorted our culture,
Crucified by their tortures.
Yet, we failed to unlearned our past errors,
Which toiled and destabilized our culture;
Faulting the White, yet crushing its members.
I look forward to meeting my days;
Filled with orderliness and restraint.
Which will wipe out our lust,
And fortify our hope.
But if this is natural,
Then let nature bring it to us.
Even when it’s revolution;
Then, we would revolt against it.
But as much as I could fight,
was all not a hopeless Hope?