Here we are
again,
lost in the
thin air.
Pieces of us
– scattered across the FCT.
Another bomb
blast.
They saw my
head in Sokoto,
street kids
balling around with it.
In Aso Rock, seats my headless body,
King among
clowns.
It's not
workers day,
it's Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Nigeria.
Yet, we
can't tell the difference.
