In the heart of Benue's blessed land,
Where Tiv and Idoma made their stand,
The drums of peace have lost their beat
Now ash and silence fill the street.
The yams lie crushed beneath the flame,
The homes are gone, but none take blame.
Where children laughed, the silence grows,
As mourning cloaks the evening's close.
They came not with the tongue of trade,
But with the steel of sharpened blade.
Their cattle grazed, but so did fear
And left behind the widow's tear.
From Agatu's fields to Konshisha's plains,
Blood flows like the season's rains.
In Anyiin, cries rise with the dawn
"Another village lost, another gone."
The Tiv now plant with one eye wide,
The Idoma run, nowhere to hide.
Not war declared, yet war it feels
With wounds the soil never heals.
O leaders far, do you not hear
The cries that burn the atmosphere?
Or have you sold your eyes for gold,
While villages lie bare and cold?
Yet still, beneath this heavy cloud,
A people rise—unyielding, proud.
They sing of peace, though wronged and torn,
They swear their land will be reborn.
For fire may scorch the rooted tree,
But not the soul of those born free.
And Benue's sons will rise again
Their scars not shame, but marks of pain.