When shall we live? When shall we wake up from dearth? We are having night mare but we enjoy tragedy, so the lions that roared in us when we were younger now learn to eat grass.
We are the sons of the soil. Our fathers watered the soil with their blood to cultivate fearless warriors, and survivors even if the heavens shot her windows. Our fathers' population was small but invincible, relentless, and indomitable.
... Until the serpent yet again gave some of us that forbidden fruit our fathers advised us no to eat. Now we see the impossibility of brotherhood, and neglect the anthem and pledge that remind us of our origin and uniqueness. We eat with bare hands with devils who have long spoons...
... We are now so wise in our foolishness to sell off those things that make our prestigious language and culture rise above heat to civilization.
We breed children who are shy to respond with every agility and strength in them at the sound of the almighty IGBO KWENU!!! What about how we tap the back of our right palm to our brothers' three times before feeling the warmth of our palm. Our red cap and and isiagu attire that used to be our identity are now for fashion that we become foreigners as soon as we are in them. Many more things I see leave my heart shattered, Little wonder we see the impossibility of achieving BIAFRA.
Where Is our BIAFRA? Where is the pride of Our IGBO nations? We need the rain of the sweat of which our fathers fought with!
IGBO KWENU! KWENU!! KWEZUONU OOO!!!
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