7d
The drums will beat in Nigeria’s square,
Crowds will gather, hearts laid bare.
Two eagles soar in the harmattan sky,
Each with a vision, each asking, “Why not I?”
Tinubu stands with the weight of years,
Policies forged through triumph and tears.
He speaks of roads, of markets wide,
Of a nation’s pride he longs to guide.
Jonathan returns with the calm of rain,
Promising healing for a land in pain.
He recalls the days of gentle peace,
Where tempers cooled and tensions ceased.
The youth will weigh with sharpened sight,
Which path will lead to morning light?
Will they choose the hand that builds anew,
Or the voice that whispers, “I still believe in you”?
In ballot ink the future writes,
Through sleepless days and fiery nights.
And when the final count is done,
Nigeria’s story will have begun—
A fresh chapter, bold and yet unknown,
Where the people’s will will stand alone.
Crowds will gather, hearts laid bare.
Two eagles soar in the harmattan sky,
Each with a vision, each asking, “Why not I?”
Tinubu stands with the weight of years,
Policies forged through triumph and tears.
He speaks of roads, of markets wide,
Of a nation’s pride he longs to guide.
Jonathan returns with the calm of rain,
Promising healing for a land in pain.
He recalls the days of gentle peace,
Where tempers cooled and tensions ceased.
The youth will weigh with sharpened sight,
Which path will lead to morning light?
Will they choose the hand that builds anew,
Or the voice that whispers, “I still believe in you”?
In ballot ink the future writes,
Through sleepless days and fiery nights.
And when the final count is done,
Nigeria’s story will have begun—
A fresh chapter, bold and yet unknown,
Where the people’s will will stand alone.
