“Kontrey go beta”
Feeble traces of hope;
From the dead street just ahead,
From the loud newspaper stand,
From the battered billboard hanging miserably within the roundabout,
From the jam-packed employment office,
From the dying torch of the patriot.
“Kontrey go beta”
We tuck away our growing doubts,
And pluck our eyes and lend them to the sunset of tomorrow,
Because it never came yesterday — against our definite belief.
“Kontrey go beta”
We grow tough skins,
And sell our resistance to the previous year’s harmattan,
Because we could barely afford creams to protect our lips and feet.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We turn our interests to the assurance of statistics,
And teach ourselves to interpret its importance,
Because we think numbers won’t fail as much as words did.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
They came to us when we were fed up,
They spoke fluently like the others,
We were told to embrace the stems
Of their sweet-smelling vows.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We were told to hop on danfos
And ride into fat, fascinating sunbeams,
We were told to dance in the sand
With nursery-like hopes, like nimble adolescents.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We waited for hours and hours in the scorching heat:
And all we’ve seen so far are
clueless men riding bareback
On pledges they had no faith in.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We sing merrily as we march like an army,
Into mass, shallow graves,
Even before the echo of our hopes died on the lips of the previous election.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We still lay wide awake at night,
Filling our dreams with green grasses and sweet expectations,
Hoping to wake up to cheap commodities and safe communities.
“Aahh, contrey go beta”
We are convinced beyond any shadow of doubt,
It might not manifest today,
Albeit, our eyes are fixed on the sunset of tomorrow.
