(my dear Nigeria,
every night we behold a star,
it reminds us of hope.)

dear country,
i’m writing your words on my skin
like a tattoo from a bifurcated tool

where each welt is a vestige of hunger,
famine, corruption & insurgency,–
i’m healing yet dying.

did you hear the gong from the hills?
the caustic roars of hungry lions,–
the explosion in the throat of pipelines

& the excursion of souls into the messages of blasts
& the eradication of properties in the voice of booms.
did you hear, did you?

i’m the hopeless child on the streets of kano,
my ribs glow like your future, O Nigeria!
my arms & legs are as thin as your totem

but they sparkle like your tomorrow.
sit with me Nigeria, sit with me &
let’s thread the stars into the body of the moon

where a lonely god sweeps & sleeps,
& hold our fears in our hands & heads.
sit with me Nigeria, sit with me &

let’s watch how the moon agrees with the stars
& the willingness of the sky to hold them
for it’ll be our turn in the morn

to spread out over hills and mountains
to illuminate our terms and scores
the way the sun does in idanre…

my dear Nigeria,
every night we sit here to behold the stars,
it reminds us of hope in the morn.

© Nome Patrick.