CITY OF FADING DREAMS
When her serenity was safer, her uniformed females were sweet-looking moons and pipe-born water sang songs of freedom, forcing ways into buckets of early arrivals.
Her catch of unity spoke aloud from gardens of green enchantments, while round the clock bliss, reeled in ways of lighted worlds.
She was a melting broth of oneness where tongue, tribe and regional affiliations wouldn't her Mayoral Gate accept, and marks of difference were swallowed by inclusive that shone in exemplariness.
Encountering her suburbs was embracing a unique exposition of villages whose aroma reminded us of homes we left behind.
Once her Gate's essence was lost, her offices choke with under hands who churn out substandard streets in reckless abandon, concoct crooked means of crumbling night life and barefaced citizen intimidation doesn’t come as shock.
When her lawns and gardens enjoyed showers of water from the authority’s parks and gardens, “faith”, “love”, “togetherness” and “centre of unity” weren’t smokescreens; fast-fading as disappearing roads that once connected us.
Eriata Oribhabor
(Di POET)
Lagos, Nigeria