Puncture the balloons of our past sailors,
Foul smell will cry all around.
Pump out the waters in their bellies,
Flood of riches will visit the poor.
Trace the cables of light from its source,
They all trafficked all to their homes,
Check the homes of the poor,
All their bulbs have long died in dust.
Weigh their children on a scale,
Eaten corruption had built up their farts,
Burst their bellies with pins of truth,
You won’t withstand the farts.
Ask them where lies our trillions,
Ask them where the poor lives,
Ask them how much is fuel price,
Silence will only reply in a muted form.
Ask them how much they buy paracetamol,
Ask Emeka who owns that patent store,
The difference is fenced in thousands,
Ask them when is ‘ Mid Term’ break,
Only summer and winter holidays rings,
All their wards read books on America’s shelf,
Dishing burnt cakes to we citizens.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.