Brain dead

On the chop board of history we glory lay
Expecting to be grilled with rage once again
With the demented bouquet of our collective idiocy
A sweet meal to the hills of the gods we sober serve
Their tables we set in relished ache
Even though their crumbs are out of bounds,
yet the smell of their air makes us chortle

We sit and watch this uproarious pun
A scene where the characters eat our fats
Of our choosiest wine they gulp with impunity
Oh! What a clamorous applause we give!
The second, third and fourth scene wasn’t different
All they do is dance, win, dine and mingle
Even though we see some occasional scuffles
In the evening we watch them eat some waffles

Now the party has started again
I mean under the cloud that rains cowries
Singing the song of victory without a sword sharpened!
Like swarm the stockholders move under the rain
Hoping to harvest some ‘fallings’
All my countrymen could do is take some notes
Wonder if one day they’ll take a test
Under the tree because the school is eroded
A nation flooded with chronic amnesia

                                       Omo-Ekun, Ilu-Nla