I tour in the cold morning
I saw with bulged eyes rich in retinol
I was infuriated like a fan of loser
I feel my heart aching like a cracking ribs
Women with greys stress their wrinkles
They mount on bicycle every morning
They turn to men in responsibilities
They cycle to farm everyday
In the cold temperature
In the land where oil is ferried
I cry like an oozen tree
I shake my head in pains
It's painful like an unkept wound
It is dramatic
Irony of our land
The land of crude resources
Feel the pains of nonchalant
Some women
Attempt climbing palm tree
To pluck palm fruits
And off to the market
Just to live against hunger
And cater for the love ones
Like other part of the land
Men at home in drunken mood
Under the shelter tree
Cracking jokes of concubine
While wrinkle women weeding
In their various furrows and ridges
Our country is wicked
Our leaders are pessimistic
Our cabals are barred from assistance
Land with heartless principals
I feel for the oil producing land
The land I tour with tears
My two eyes become spring
In the journey I embark on
In the nation of oil
I feel their agony
I feel their torment
I feel their thrust
They suffer what they don't deserve
Like an innocent in captivity
They feel the agonies they don't merit
Like raining curses on a day old neonate
Nigeria, o Nigeria
My heart bleeds.
Rest in peace
#benue bleeds