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Wednesday 10 July 2019



It’s a love divine
It’s true, I'm possessed
Anyhow it is
It’s all about Biafra
Just about the land
Is not about money
Or about Trade
Cars or mansion
But freedom
Freedom for the land
Land of Biafra
Dismantled yet very tall
Crushed yet never died

My people, my people
Can’t you see the beauty?
The height and the length
The nature of her make
Shining so bright
Like the spring flower
In the garden
 Smiles so wide
But in the palace of suffering
Looking so pretty
But served with
Agony and anarchy

Oh yes, can’t you see
And feel her pains
The pretty cries
And carries the cup
Of hatred offered to her
The bloody host
She hugs every where she goes
The dagger that knows
The direction of her heart
The wind that blows
To blind her forever

If you haven’t noticed this
Then what have you become?
What then, will you become?
An outcast in the home of fathers?
A slave, even as the master?
A sufferer in your rich palace?

But who crushed your pride
Have you ask?
Who dent your image?
Have you bordered to know?
Who made you a slave?
Have you find out?

Now I cry for you
For keeping mute
For loving the subjugation and slavery
For being happy in pains
For accepting stain
In the ironed suit

But why not rise
Rise for freedom
Freedom that will define
That gifted hand of yours
In the eyes
Of the world
That gift you have, which
Others don’t have
That gift only Biafra can give
Biafra, land of the rising sun
All hail Biafra.

#Join IPOB #Biafra Restoration

Written by Onyebuchi Eucharia O.
For Family Writers Press International

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