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The Unknown Prince

THE GLORY OF TOMORROW

 

Today, we reminisce with nostalgia and tears,
On our trek and pilgrimage through the years,
Today, we mark the scars and stars of time,
On the rickety frame and soul of our clime;

At the birth of time, it was a nest of nature, 
Clad in flora and fauna, with dreams for the future,
Birds chirped away at the distant sky,
The music of the woods made spirits high,
Twilight folktales and memories stole our huts, 
Peace and pure camaraderie made our lots.

Alas! Time made us guests to burdensome folks,
Feigning lamb-like guests, with the leviathan‟s strokes,
We bore the Whiteman‟s burden in our region, 
Adorned subtly with the cloak of civility and religion,
They came behind the façade of the Holy Word, 
And unleashed the venom of the merciless sword,
They turned lords to rule our tropical waves,
And made our mothers and fathers slaves,
While we labored under a pitiless pain,
They reveled in the spirit of the champagne.

Share not in our stinging memories of chains,
Drink not from our epochal jars of pains,
Our guests‟ burden was a racist bourgeois mantra,
Poor men from poor metropoles, enriched by poor Africa;
Bring me not memories of our triangular trade,
Nor the fettered epoch of our vassal grade,
Tell me not of colonial guests‟ tools in the nation,
For they‟re all monstrous sordid façades of dissimulation,
Tell me not of the vilest rape and debauchery of a people,
Lest you make hearts the boiling pot of a ripple.

Tell all ears with a romance of nostalgia,
Of the travails of this Niger Area,
Oft in the belly of soul-sickening throes,
Oft in pitiless stinging odious woes,
We‟ve passed through the fire, flame and flood,
We‟ve survived the baths of blood,
Heights of bliss; depths so bleak, in our clime,
Sober memorable moments of time, 
Treasured beyond the gold in Spanish mines,
To indite, troubadours would pen classic lines.

 Albeit, the tides have come and gone,
Let hearts and souls be no more forlorn,
Afflict us no more in a mournful number, 
Sing us not melancholy melodies to bring us slumber,
Let the dark ages of our despair quell the dark story,
For „tis the epoch to blaze a trail of glory,
All feet on clay, set to scale so far,
For acquaintance with our near star,
Shed no more the tears of sorrow,
Ere comes the glory of tomorrow!

Magnus Abraham-Dukuma, Esq.

Poet’s Note: 
The Glory of Tomorrow chronicles our journey, as a people, from pre-colonial times to this present moment wherein we hope for a glorious tomorrow.



About Author Mohamed Abu 'l-Gharaniq

when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries.

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