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Poem

Pumping and pushing with bloated gusto
In different styles and shapes they have come, as before 
Each emerging through unresolved processes as planned 
Piled up arsenals deployed like there is no tomorrow 
All chanting in deafening croak to distract the people 
Brandishing ill wealth, in brave impunity 
Even State funds must serve personal ego now
Crushing the same masses whose votes count 
One day, that must come, even in Naija
An irony, never imagined from a people so very blessed 
Luring us the people with spoils from war against the same us 
Our rights serve as gifts for the high and mighty 

Alas we the masses will match to vote as ever 
Hoping for once that our voices be heard
Yet the counts seem concluded, in endless night meetings
Times conducive for an arbiter to meet a contender
The umpire could already be in bed with a candidate 

They have promised on their mothers’ graves which they defy daily 
They have pretended to supplicate in unsolicited acts of humility 
On us confusion rests, while the press and churches launder the vampires
On us the fangs will be unleashed when the power rests

Who will bid the highest for Awka Government House?
The time is almost up and all that can be bought have been bought 
Those without a price are left confused, waiting for Godot

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