By Awodele Habeeb
Panic days and nights, As fear roams and rumbles my land, Causing tough tears from helpless eyes, Grieved groans from thirsty gullets And craving clamour from hungry stomachs, When all is embattled, Of the infestation of cruel creatures ---- Wolves. Black wolves. They everywhere parade in packs, With styles of superiority; of proclaiming leadership, And desperate hunts towards the weak. While the dreads of their detrimental feet, Tremble and torment the land into disharmony. Wicked wolves. During dawns and dusks do they appear, With their lowered noses to perceive preys, And the enraging echoes Of their howls shred the hearts, And the wailing woofs of their barkings Shudder away the dwellers' glimmers of hope. All ears too weary To persevere the grumblings of their growlings. 'Joint hands lift the load better', Asserted our asleep ancestors. So arise, my lands, all together! In bind, in bundle ,in bunch, Let your souls awoken, With tied and tightened spirit of repulsion, Against the arbitrariness of their invasions, And tender your voices in consolidation, To silence their ascending crescendos. For my land is vast for promising plants to sprout, And not for wildness to tear into dismantlement.