We are a nation
with zealous passion
we make mountain
but live in mole-hill
we offer others peace
but we’re torn into pieces
to neighbours we give joy
but we cry for toy

We are a nation
of nice-smelling lotion
with no working notion

Ours is a country
where we try
always cry
nothing works
pot-bellied minority walks
away with our money
throwing the land into mourning

Ours is a home
that unhomes
the landlord

We are a nation
rich ridges with oils
lubricating faraway soils
while sons-of-the-soil
cry for their own oils

A nation with many professions
unresolved confessions
leaders are players
followers are prayer
warriors

Our friends’ challenges
we bear
with no changes
to home-grown virus

Only the fools are full
elites lack the light
few rich reach the height
many poor pour out anguish

We make bed for distant land
but on nettled-rock
we rest our bony back
others’ resources we manage
patriotically ours we damage

We are the Black race’s elephant
not without elephantiasis
our resources onshore and offshore
our eyesore
lobby
our hobby
politics
our tricks