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My father is a country.
He delights in making laws,
he delights more in breaking them.
Like a child who builds sand towers
with an ambience of devotion,
then kicks them off with a tickle of laughter.
My father regards the Ministers as mini stars,
and tells us he could shine brighter.
He paints the President's flaws
and critically suggests the best agenda.
But when a chair needs repair,
we have to hire a man.
All wars he'd very quickly end
as fast as I can write it.
But when a neighbor starts a fuss,
'tis mother that has to fight it.
He boasts of his independence,
then goes to the streets to beg for food.
Like an hyperactive child,
he sings the alphabet loudly and
but cannot seem to write a word.
My father is a country,
and he celebrates today
like a FiftyNine years old baby.
© Fredrick Rachel.
Happy birthday Nigeria!
I wish you growth and plenty of fertilizers.
A perfect shape is a circle - a zer0; and nothing is in a perfect shape.