The lies we were told yester years

still linger in our memories.
They fed us with lies
of being the leaders of tomorrow.
But the morrow is a crawling toddler
waiting for the future to come along.

In their chameleonic attire, they sound the gong
that we are not too young to run
But they sit under the stench of cool breeze
to cascade down our rivers of hope.

Now, we are no more young,
Beneath our quizzical glare we can see
How school boys and girls were kidnapped,
How Boko boys turn the North to bombing ground
How Herdsmen lay the siege on our land,
How Bandits evade our bumpy roads.

Yes, we are no more young!

Beneath our quizzical glare we can see
How Nigerian students live on strike,
How Nigerian graduates wander the streets
How the price of goods mount the hill.

Yes, we are no more young!

Alas! We were told the lies of change
that I belong to everybody, I belong to nobody,
The lies upon lies…

Loriro!

Written by Busy Brain
Feb, 1st 2021
9:00pm

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Twitter :BusyBrain01