I hold my pen, back bent, eyes starring at a blank sheet.
I wanna write, felt like writng, but what to write I don't know.
Then it comes to mind, my country commands a fleet.
Use to have the thirst to serve her through rain and snow.

Just like respect patrotism is to be earned.
My country cares for no one, brown, white or tan.
Why waste a laurel on a ragged jacket.
Unless you wanna beautify it for a casket.

So, I am to decide what to write on nigeria.
Bombings of innocent souls going in the north?
Or kidnappings in the niger area.
I better decide before the nation disappears into rot.

I always knew I could help her.
But now all that rocks is her fear.
There is so much strife and hate.
I only wish am not too late.