Let me pose my pen on the marble of innocent souls unjustly molested.
Let me, at this point, peruse the world of broken bones and listen, attentively, to the melody of lyre.
This poem is an elixir.
It has no beginning;
It does chant the panacea to global pandemonium.
This poem is a remnant of Borno’s corpses
& that of other bleeding States of the Federation.
This poem has no ending.
Its components were chosen from the archives of history.
This poem speaks of civil war and state of the nation — every now and then.
It does enunciate the heartfelt of stars' constellation.
This poem is pregnant and it shan’t go on maternity leave –
Until the dogs in the neighborhood stopped barking in my compound.
Until peace is restored on the entirety of the soil of our fatherland.
Until all roads are — without fear, anxiety and instability — usable by our travellers...
Until then, this poem will speak zillion things to a layman.