My national team (satire)

a poem by Joseph Chukwudiegwu Osita, Nigeria

See them sagging

Under the spell of Galanoleyki and teguk warriors

Whose legs have no name in the game

That these legs, I know can not dance better

On the soil of the ancestors

The song we dance best

Fourteen seasons sailed

Under the snows of Atlanta

Our rats in glass house

Whose menace has murdered

The strength of our local traps

They are the headache and the snatches of sleep

They say we are the supper eagles

When supper chicken crush our wings

They said we need a foreign master

When our local masters towered knowledge to the sky

Without the Oder of a tick-tack they hunted abroad

And brought a tired wrinkled face

Whose knowledge, I think not of man

While irony crush our expectant faces

We can still soar again

By the mercy of a son

Whose father is a king in kingdom of heaven

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