Friday, 6 February 2015


The circle is near completion
the path to our huts is now well trod
our walls wear their smiling faces
they looks so good
their words looks good too
but we know better
suddenly we’ve become friends
it happens every time they need us
here they are knocking our doors
they come in flowing raiments
our rags barely hide our bums
as usual, bearing smiles and gifts.

Last time they were here
they preached the gospel- CHANGE
effortlessly, promises jumped down their lips
if we didn’t know better
we would have been taken in
in our hunger they fed fat
its four years already,
they want four more
now they are back knocking
with foods, money with promises
of change change change like conductors
haggling with passengers  in a lagos bus.

Last time one of our friends had no shoes
our sympathy we freely gave
in addition to the luck he’s had
and down the lane is a sorry sight
a sad tale of a lost people
last time,
our friend the Khaki man lost the polls
in holy tears and bitter anger
he made us promises of chaos
and for years after his words
by the day the death toll increases
some bombed, some kidnapped
but he has braved the elements
‘cos today he’s here again
like a chameleon in a different colour
he’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing
a sad tale of lost people.   

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