Child laborers like us
Live in a world of reality
Where domestic violence is a commonality
Amidst high infant mortality
Mafia's rewarded for their masculinity
No individuality
Fear of homosexuality
Ours is a world of frugality
Full of sick mentality
An abundance of rascality, criminality, carnality, illegality
No traces of equality, liberality, joviality, musicality
Lopsided is our scale of ethicality
Thinking of freedom is an illogicality
Laughed at for its ephemerality
Being fettered in this communality
Balances the economy of duality
Quaint Inanity.
Sometimes ago I'd thought of the idiosyncratic Shenanigans our politicians employed in declaring their manifesto. They're quite rapscallions.
Exhibiting hoity-toities during their declarations of flapdoodle, they
Tune their cozenage to the rhythm
Of rascality.
And you see kaleidoscopic legs picking
The nimbus of the elfin music.
And they're swayed into cotillion till their Fela* commute to dirge.
18:07:23:18:52
My soul weeps and my heart bleeds,
We seem to have lost our core creeds.
Youngsters are now in a very hot haste,
not to wield wealth, but to wine and waste...
Character has been cocooned in a coffin,
True beauty gasps for breath in a bin.
Our ladies are weapons of mass distraction,
Men's rod roam around for mass destruction.
Women, weed and wine are the new normal,
purpose, purity and passion seem abnormal.
Men of integrity are long gone in deep sleep,
The one who upholds truth is now a black sheep.
Power, possession and prodigality now prevail,
money, music and madness seem to avail...
integrity is stupidity when men with money speak,
nobility become nonentity when rascality peak.
Hen now crows because cocks are silent,
Giants bow when greedy ants get very violent.
Wake up folks, the battle line is drawn uphill...
We shall win this war till justice stands still..
Hear the muttered snivel of our kids
Puked away to gloom, twinge and disease
Wrecked by creeds
To fulfill an antique mores
Whose ruin is beyond scientific darn
See the boulevards and the creeks
Before sight are male Mal-nourished toddlers
In rag togs, blistered feet, beseeching alms
And ingesting the remnants
From the poorest buffet
They toil in tackle capacity
Inversely allied to their weight
From sun rise to sunset
To earn much less than you
See the boulevards
How they stir; bunched
On the trot to any kind of dub
To good and to evil
Death becomes a familiar friend
At first light and at dark
From toil, food, water and sleep
Such a despicable way of live
But then the espoused antique mores, woes
Regenerated by ills of the society
To the blanketed vision of the moneyed
To plunge empathy and impious reliance of all
Can this be our way of life?
Trouncing fortunes to antique mores?
Reticence to rascality?
And nationhood to meanness?
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