They are my people whose tiny little tots are wrapped in tatters at cradle
They too are my people whose children’s coverings at birth are of wool and fur
They are my people whose wards lay still, lifeless without much ado
They too are my people who shake the earth and move the heaven to give their own breath
They are my people whose young minds yearn to explore, yet shrouded in a corner of the world
They too are my people whose fledgling minds are allowed free reign to the detriment of all
They are my people who burn the candle for a seat in buildings of commotion
They too are my people who sleep their way to the best of structures
They are my people whose struggles to scale the hurdles are deemed usual
They too are my people whose merest efforts are greeted with endless pomp
They are my people whose fingers write and rewrite to have a daily portion
They too are my people who with just a snap have more than can be chewed
They are my people, I know they are
But
Are they my people whose costs of living have no limit?
Are they my people who gloatingly plunder the land?
Are they my people who globe-trot a midst problematic airs?
Are they my people whose images are constantly sullied?
Are they my people who are Heads without heads?
Are they my people who live for Nigeria to break?
tteedot 