CRY THE BELOVED COUNTRY!

Your kingly robes are soiled in allegiance to treachery,
Your elders swore an oath to uphold your peace but behold your flag,
It waves back and forth in the wind of betrayal,
A mass grave of hopes and dreams are your earns to keep.
A funeral service of tomorrow, buried today.
Beloved country,
What was your sin again?
Daring to put your faith in a leaking basket of ‘maybe’s
Hoping for Change but having it spelt out wrong for you?
Where lies the labour of your heroes past?
Where lies the promise of a nation where peace and justice reigns?
Was it just another song we had to sing?
You dreamed a dream when you were a child,
Just weaned from the breast of your white masters,
Who assumed you deserved to sing your own anthem,
And surrendering their claims to you,
They embraced you for the last time and wishing you a happy independence,
Sailed away.
What happened to the lips of the horn-blower, the one who sounded your call?
It was a call to rise up, “Nigeria’s call to obey.”
Has he drunk to stupor and abandoned his horn?
Or could it be there’s no more call to answer to?
‘Freedom!’ you cried, liberty you earned and now,
You drown in a pool of your own demands.
Freedom isn’t free, haven’t you heard?
Maybe it was a sin to dream of being free,
I read somewhere that the wages of sin is death.
The worker is worthy of his pay;
You earned you wages.
But who pays for your mistakes;
of casting your pearls before swines.
A costly mistake, don’t you realize now,
That when we sing, “Your vote is your power”
We meant every letter of it?
Impetuous child,
When will you ever learn?
When will you open your eyes to the blindness that surrounds you?
Look now! Your mess is quite the state-of-the-art.
How long will you present your hands to be tied?
Will you say to the slayer,
“I will be a willing sacrifice but don’t slay me?”
The man behind the mask is not blind,
He sees, he knows,
He smiles at the tears and blood that water his soil.
He laughs when you complain because he knows you’ll come back begging,
Like a piece of thread, he has you wrapped around his last finger.
But will he say ‘enough?’
the fire always wants more.
Cry the beloved country,
For your pearls, dancing beneath the toes of dogs and pigs,
For your sons and daughters who pay the price for your mistakes,
For the lies you paid to hear.
Cry,
For the bags of rice and beans and promises
that you accepted in exchange for your freedom.
You complain of the slave masters? You regret their deeds?
Look closely and see, you are no different from them.
You will sing the faults of the villain, and all the while cheer him on.
Let him build castles in your minds,
You asked for change. You got your wish.
Who will cast the first stone now?
Cry the beloved country,
For if you will not,
The blood of the slain cries out to heaven unrestrained.