Yī Fēng xìn

Dear Motherland,

hope meagre moments yet dance

throwing taunted thrills

to the fostering figs?

Dear Motherland,

do the sassy streams with flaps

on diminuendo and crescendos’ rhythm

yet maintain the lusty lyric?

Dear Motherland,

does frolic Kanji dam

basked in mushy currents

wins the mercies of fame yet?

Say nought, dear Motherland,

moments are now cleavages of trance

dark dribbles suck their nectar

puking punctured alakazam

Don’t freak out, dear Motherland,

technology’s tongue poked had

made callous confetti

of salient streams and their rhythms

Be not so ashamed, dear Motherland,

I heard the nauseating tale of our dam:

he’s aged, broken limbs with no staff,

and smothered wits balming his laps.

’20:04:26:18:40

Note: Of moaning motherland (Nigeria).