Hope

We are marching to Zion
We hold the olive branch
Green and very fresh
But we are feverish
Our hearts held hostage
Between a crescendo of uncertainty
And descendo of obscurity

We were born with the Biafra,
We read of those terrible coup tales
We witnessed the annulment
We saw the Ogoni carnage
We even participated in the elections
Hoping to get there sooner

But the path becomes weary
and we are wary
these tortuous bends, retracting
stretches of pain
Would it ever rival our endurance?

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