The Owl is standing on the baobab tree,
At the main gate of Port Harcourt,
Hooting, hooting and hooting;
In its harbinger of fate duties,
Announcing the dead birth of Biafra,
And the living death of Nigeria,
It is hooting; Nigeria Kidu!,
Lagos Kidu! Abuja Kidu!
Just as it did when verging,
The early death of Chris Okigbo,
Nnamdi Kidu!, Radio Biafra Kidu,
Anambra Kidu!,Ipop Kidu!Massop Kidu!
Buhari Kidu!Nigeria Kidu!
Where is that old man?
To put away his loincloths,
To undress fully and be nude naked,
With no under-pant in his waist,
To take the African axe from Zululand,
And walk in the wee of the night,
With nary fear of darkness,
To bravely reconnoiter the stem,
Of the recondite baobab tree,
On which is perched the owl,
Let him cut deeply at the stem,
To neutralize the voodoo secrets,
Perfecting evil machinations,
Against Nigeria Africa’s beacon,
The tree may fall or not,
But before it falls with a thud,
The owl will fly away to hell,
And ride on mosquito’s back therein,
With no elegy in a dirging song,
For the dead birth of Biafra,