Myriad of drumbeats rock my ears,
Angry outpours of gangan drums thump the village atmos.
They are torrents of rage uttered by oppressed hearts,
and belched from hungry tummies,
Tummies which had managed to live on N5 a day,
Now forced to live on N2 this day.
At the table my wants I call.
My heart you bobbled like a ball,
My land you chopped with your callous prongs.
In sweat, so long my farm I worked,
So long my barns I stocked,
These grains, my grains you sucked with straws of corruption,
And expect me to sharap and turn my ògo to it all?
Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, make violent revolution inevitable!
This article was written by Folarin Kolawole
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