They say we're celebrating democracy,
even in the face of a glaring autocracy.
"Your vote counts", they deceitfully say,
but after it all, they still have their way.
Corruption dips its filthy hands in the nation's soup pot,
the elected cooks cruelly watch the municipal broth rot.
The masses' mouths, unfed, are left gaping,
their rights, privileges, choices—everything waning.
Their voices, unheard, tell so many tales.
The leaders' bellies, bulging, flip the scales.
We've constantly earned our rightful due,
but it all goes into the pockets of a select few.
We cry aloud for everyone, anyone, to save us,
but "Help cometh from the Lord, not from Lagos."
Everyone's bent on taking their cut, even the clergy,
the people—for whom the meat is meant—go hungry.
Well, alas! I can only play a part,
In letting this bloated aristocracy know that,
democracy isn't for them to shelve,
and then ring out on one day, June 12.
©6ukunmi
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