The world was silent when we died,
Ears turned deaf even as we cried,
Their attention remained uncaught, however hard we tried,
Slowly, we lost our hope, we lost our pride.
We counted our fingers, we counted our loss,
But ours was truly a lost just course,
Before our closing eyes was the brilliant enemy’s force
Our bruised lips ached as in death we kissed the cross.
But we kept the faith, we fought the fight,
and yet ours was barely an admirable plight.
The end was near, heaven was in sight,
Vaguely, we saw something like an angel put our foes to flight!
The enemy triumphed, the battle was lost,
As he scouted our land, and swore it was cursed.
Nevertheless, in their numbers, his kins poured in from the north,
And looted our “cursed land” as though it was not!
Now they control our oil, they control our lives,
And the fruit of our labour, they share into unequal halves
Yet they over-work our descendants like bees in hives,
While they pray to Allah and rear fattened calves
Truely the world was silent when Biafra died,
Everyone turned deaf ears while her children died,
She lost her fight, however hard she tried,
Even the custodians of fate ignored her as her hopes slowly died.