By: Oluwatosin Akinrinde
Black gold, thou serpent in Eden’s guise,
In Delta’s veins, thy venom multiplies,
Turning rivers to ink where fishes die.
Nigeria’s boon, a curse in fine disguise,
Where flares illuminate impoverished skies,
And soil rejects the seed that once would rise.
What wit: that wealth should beggar those it feeds,
And plenty’s flow spawn only barren weeds.
Cleanse thou this taint, O elemental fire,
Restore the land from exploitation’s mire.
If grace be oil, anoint us pure and whole,
Lest we in sludge surrender every soul.
Written by Oluwatosin Akinrinde, a poet, playwright, experimental writer, and a literary & cultural writer.
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