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My soul painfully grief,
For bedridden misfortune,
Of ‘better-dead’ individuals,
Unfit to be called humans,
Yet the scepter in there hands lie.
A cycle of power they form,
The same political party,
The same, unending apathy,
Stares us in the face of every intending election.
Those that practice not there corruption,
They seek to punish as corrupt,
Their closet you check
Lumps of covert illegalities you uncover.
Over 140 million people are thrown in to the doom,
While their coveted luxury they launder away,
Parading joy and fame,
Yet putting the living in the fraternity of pain
Youth could do nothing but stare,
In their world where they’re still restricted,
They coalesce in groups to restore sanity,
Fences of opposition they face on every clock.
Bleeding tears engulf our weeping heart,
Sleepless thoughts wavier our every dream,
We stare into the a future of nothingness,
Pushing through every moment of uncertainty.
It never will go on,
These styles of intra-country slavery,
For one dawn we shall see,
Every irrationality put off.
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Writer Profile
Ibukun
I love the media asa tool for self-accalimed telescope of reasoning. I'm currently the Editor-in-Chief of Paragon Magazine in Nigeria.
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