THE BLACK LAND CRUISERS

When power surpasses prowess,

Corruption then rules the process

Whiles litigating with free flow of progress

And finally "econs" call it a "recess".

White colour job is the dream of the 90% in education,

Although many end up in somewhat not the ideal situation,

Schooling is definitely what helps build an all powerful nation.

Just like many, the African gets up in bedrooms,

And after shabbily leaving their bathrooms,

Each morning with a lunch box of mushrooms,

Arrive in hurry to follow the norms in the classrooms.

The cycle continues with future dreams carried forward,

Assumed as the job-career a guardian has for his ward.

The hullabaloo and higgledy-piggledy that led us to tertiary,

Soon leaves us in a state of fury,

Not for our wrong choices at puberty,

But the crave for scholarship and prosperity.

Behold the entangled in a course called political science,

Becoming prophets with leadership and public speaking signs.

Corruption is only a vocab for the aftermath of desire defeating achievement,

And expectations falling short of aggrandizement.

Politicians then graduate with wealth creation brainwashing their sense of commitment.

Proudly paying priority to rallies,

And giving vehement vote vying freebies,

While counting on the four-wheelers,

Mostly those BLACK LAND CRUISERS.

That's why even the witch-hunter,

Has no option than to investigate on an airbus.

Comments

RFFS PRAYER

Anytime I'm called for duty... Wherever deployment takes me, Pervert from my path, any mutiny... But give me the strength to be; The rescuer, the protector and the fire fighter. Whenever I'm gone for stand by... Lord, grant me a listening watch. All incursions, hazards and risks, May I with my crew identify... Where unavoidable, enable us to mitigate.. Be it in the terminal, tarmac or boarding gate.. Should there ever be an emergency, Wherever fire may rage.. Should there be any shout, No matter the skin or age.. Help me put the fire out, And my neighbor, help me save. And if by your will... Any blood may spill... Leading to any fatality, Protect my wife and kids, And preserve the rest of my crew.

THE BLISS of STRIFE

This is the lottery of life, That a lot of men, Tend not to see as an Omen, Full of bliss but only strife. We either get to long live, Or soon forced to leave. Be lucky to be born, Or remain a spirit borne. But no matter how you came to exist, There’s only one way to exit. Through the tunnel of death, Whether neat or with dirt. So just in case you are here, And you have some fruit to bear, Let us get to taste you in due time. Whether sweet or as sour as lime. Breathe in more air, But in your heart, do not err. Enjoy life as a sweet aroma to smell, But for your sake, let no one else yell. Anytime you are angry, Just assume you’re hungry. Seek the bread of life if you can. Because vain life is just an empty can.

FALLEN ANGELS

Most often than not, Heroes do fade with their names unsung. But the shadows of their past, And the candles we light all night, Can at least serve as lyrics, To compose for their departed souls, A new song for us to be consoled. Patriots they’re now called, As dirty politics has now stalled. For once at most, We all agree to a toast, In solemnity and not at the bar, That this life is by far, An expedition with a divine illusion. Yes indeed they were; Heroes as we now call them. Not because it sounds like an anthem, But for the national emblem, They did responsibly revere. Was it the natural order? Is it because someone failed to bother? Was it their time? Are the questions we continue to mime. But will the answer save us a dime, As a nation in her own prime? Let the eight angels fly high, As families make a thirst quenching sigh, And create for them a legacy in perpetuity. For if we seek another opportunity, And let these men go forgotten, There shall be no more fallen angles from...

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