Amid sovereignty of gloomy vibes,
Rustic infants in their traditional naivety
Gleefully chant in pathetic wonder
At potentates fluttering on high in first class;
Nonchalant, unperturbed as an eagle
Whose gaze drops to mock its piteous prey.
Swanky copters roar above our heads,
Hovering and hounding our sleepy clamour
Indifferent to their feigned existence.
Discourteous cavalcades and sirens on highways
Thwart perceptions of the common man to believe…
And with majesty, pomp and poise,
Power raises its shoulders above caution and thrives –
Regal lords of the land
Who lodge ill escapades on newspaper pages
And throw to our faces uncircumcised words
To drown our guts and hew our worth.
But when their reign ceases to rain down
Terror and tears upon our brows,
And power shares a bumpy boulevard
With parliament of beggars on the street,
Same rustic infants in their traditional naivety
Scornfully shall chant in comical wonder – pococurante –
At their spurned garments of pride.
As autumn leaves they become
Bare, boneless and buried
In the mounting darkness of their shame.
It’s democracy.
*** Written by Jacobs Adewale ***
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