Root

Beneath the earth, unseen, it winds,

A silent force that holds, entwines.

From soil to stem, from seed to sky,

The root remembers, cannot lie.

In villages where elders speak,

The root recalls the past we seek.

Stories of kingdoms, lost and torn,

Of mothers’ prayers at each new dawn.

Through Lagos streets where traffic roars,

Through northern plains, through southern shores, The root persists, though often bruised,

By hunger, fear, and hope misused.

It drinks the rain, absorbs the sun,

It weathers storms, but comes undone.

Yet in each crack of concrete stone,

The root whispers, “You’re not alone.”

In markets loud, in city hum,

It hums of harvests yet to come.

Of farmers’ toil beneath the heat,

Of rivers where the children meet.

It knows the cries of those denied,

Their futures lost, their dreams belied.

It knows the joy of festival drums,

The dances where old hatred numbs.

Through politics and promises vain,

Through leaders’ greed, the nation’s strain,

The root holds fast, beneath it all,

A silent answer to the call.

It bends, it breaks, yet does not yield,

Its strength unseen in open field.

In every child who dares to rise,

The root whispers beneath the skies.

It is the tongue, it is the song,

It is the place where we belong.

It binds the north, it binds the south,

It murmurs truth through every mouth.

Though roads collapse and lights go dim,

Though faith is tested, futures grim,

The root endures in hearts and hands,

A quiet hope across the lands.

O Nigeria, hear the root’s plea:

“Remember who you’re meant to be.

Nurture the soil, embrace the seed,

And rise again in word and deed.”

For though the storms may break the tree,

The root survives eternally.