POETRY: Musings of a Common Man – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

POETRY: Musings of a Common Man – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

Musings of a Common Man

I am not against them, in the slightest.

I am just no fan of inflated praises,

She is an attractive lady: Our Nation,

They are ensconced in the top seat: Our Rulers,

In the wake of current happenings,

If you expect I rhyme out adulations,

None can beat you to hilarity, honestly.

It is no joke.

For every  kid running the busy roads,

With a tray on his head,

Every hungry family going to bed empty;

From the many tears, and wailing voices,

Does their conscience not get some flogging?

Corruption pervades every sphere of her,

The noxious effects transcend Public Offices,

Even “Pastors” reek of this absurdity,

On an average; a “Preacher” could gouge his unsuspecting congregation,

To near-death,

Under the guise of “give unto the Lord”,

What nonsense…what preposterous religion debasement…,

Inveterate looters hold Public Offices,

Wonder if they’ve felt the pangs of hunger, ever,

The inkling of insecurity, and facility dilapidation,

Or do they feign ignorance? Perhaps, they do.

The roads are a mess: slaughter slabs at best,

Millions of potentials, not a single harnessed, not one.

They have a mind of their own,

Misguided preferences,

Anti-people and Growth-retardant policies,

Yet they expect some moronic praise-singing?

I can’t.

We savour our subhuman conditions with obvious relish,

We have our rulers to thank,

For the most part of our sufferings. Stunning.

They have perpetually perpetrated evil, ruination and mass wrecking.

She is quite not the lady I knew,

Many times she has been abused,

Now she appears as one of easy virtue,

They ascend the throne, make a whore of her, and leave.

Sad…sickening. Shucks.

Next month (October) she turns a year older,

I see her lifestlye and shudder,

She’s not educated nor developed,

Her kids (the youths) are running wild,

Living abysmally,

It portends grave danger,

She is on the edge of a precipice.

Last week I saw her,

She’s clad in a Green top,

A skimpy White skirt, plus Green flip-flops,

Her face heavily adorned,

She’s bejewelled,

With dark glasses on (power outage),

She sashays on a beach –sunny day- oblivious of the world,

Since she is used to round-the-clock darkness,

She sees not the onlookers,

Struggling with the wind her skirt allows for some peep,

The world catches a glimpse of her undies.

She has lost it.

No shame nor feelings of guilt,

An African woman,

The African pride, is she?

She is a frustrating enigma.

Yet they expect accolades,

As though she were a nun.

It is not all despair,

Change might come, weeping may endure for the night…,

Relentless, I am, in my pursuit of betterment,

It would happen, when, I wouldn’t know,

Albeit something has to give.

– by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1