The news of scarcity became a nuisance,
how the cry of my people echoes like sweet songs of grievance,
good people, great nation;
bad heads, failed statements,
human wrongs becoming human rights,
“let them suffer”; the living reality of dying dreams,
nightmares in broad daylight.
My people obeys! They master how to endure slavery rules,
and when situations get rough, things just adjust like my people do,
My people obsessed! Eaten up by this fatigue of shackles,
in democratic tyranny my people arrays; in pains they’re paid.
How many lines shall we cross before we get crucified?
This humour is dark like the night before yuletide — every present is a curse from the past;
like hunting delinquencies of a juvenile;
i’m from a society where crisis is an opportunity to monetize,
where thirsty kings turn their islands into a drought,
we then throw in the sponge only to let our water go south,
we lose our strength to weaklings,
leave our destinies in hands that old age has imprisoned,
these ills flaps its tentacles,
for how long shall we queue
— our hopes praying they become a miracle?
Ayomide Inufin D’great