September 6, 2019
By Nelson Ofokar Yagazie | Biafra Writers
And the archives may now house the name “Nigeria”
For the trampled ancient nation “Biafra”
Is risen to the fore
Tired of hibernating in the cave
Trying to evade early grave
Scared of herdsmen with detonators
Terrified of iron dance of mortars
I shed my garment of fear
Ditching with it the long cloak of tears
And all the 1914 noxious gifts of the British
I either do or like every coward perish
I choose to, so let the trumpet sound
For we are listening in the grassland
The dissonant air is pregnant
Resonant across the continent
Humanity sucking the gall of Islamic brutalities
Hostility to non-Islamic communities
Palpable in Sudan, Egypt, in Somalia
In Kenya, Mali, in Nigeria
Cabals' tenacious clasp of Guinea's political walkway
Like Mugabe in Zimbabwe
Maximal oppression to the poor
So the dissonant air is pregnant with decisive war
A pre-phase of Armageddon
Nnamdi, like the historic Gideon
Leading the black Jews, the Biafrans
Against the desert wanderers, the vagabonds
Against the Mohammedan Emirates of the North
Against the chicken-hearted traitors of the West
Through a thick line of combat
Unto a divinely ordained victory
So let the name "Nigeria" be confined to history
For the dawn of Africa is breaking
The sun of black nations is rising
So let the trumpeter trumpet the trumpet
Pealing the glorious song
All hail mother Biafra
The land of the rising sun
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