My country Nigeria, it stank,
Horribly, of nauseating and utterly revolting odors,
Odors of numberless putrefying corpses that oozed,
Of things long dead and callously left unburied,
Things like trust, equality, fair play and justice,
Things killed by corruption, tribalism, and religious bigotry,
Untold poverty brushed our teeth, with lack we played,
Until they came with promises of change.
They assured us of succor from our many sorrows,
And we listened, by God we listened attentively,
In anticipation of redemption from the smell of suffering.
Soon we heard the sound of sweeping,
The deafening noise of countless brooms,
We the people, we all witnessed what they brought,
All wind, just wind, but not one thing changed.
Last I checked, of the familiar rot,
My Country Nigeria, still it reeks.