bhari's blood government

Dear Mr. President,
It’s been eight years of torments
You will forgive me because this is a lengthy poem
And I am fully aware that your ability to decipher lines
Or retain too much information May not be as good as it ought to be
This is a cry of the last year but
I hope you can pay attention
It is embarrassing to call you our father
When we can’t even cry on your shoulder
This regime has killed more souls and dreams than the devil does
Eight years ago, We choose you
As the solution to the problems of our nation
But all we’ve got is pain from the lies of your campaign
You’ve amassed so much wealth and innocent blood
Your blood bank is sufficient to hunt every cell of your lineage
Mr presidential petroleum minister
You came to fight kwarruption
But your eyes were fix in the oil Treasury
To steal, kill and destroy.

Dear Mr. President,
Permit us to rehearse your manifestos
You promised us “change”
Little did we know it will come with a cage
These refineries you built
Is now processing human being’s blood and probably for your consumption
The millions of jobs you’ve created
Is endlessly employing your tribe terroristically and bokohamastically
The infrastructure you built has conditioned cows in painted houses
While we filed into cowsheds

Mr. President, how did you even choose your Ministers?
They say Birds  of the same feathers flock together
Oh, see corruption battling corruption!

Dear Mr. President,
Let us feign a cryptic smile
For we were known as the giant of Africa
But right now 9ja may be sold to pay the irrecoverable debt you’ve incurred
For we have no place again in Africa
This kontry is burning so hard at a grieving pace
So sad that the labour of our hero’s past is now in vain

Dear Mr. Presi-dead,
Can you hear the pain in those voices
As they fell in cold blood
Helplessly shot dead by your force.
They were the ones to deliver their families from poverty
But you’ve sent them to their early grave
Because bravery you hate and justice you despise
But you claim to fight corruption

Dear Mr. Presidead,
You know what?
In all this chaos, I admire your wit
A wolve in the cloth of a sheep
At your campaign, you came with hopes in your ship
So you packed the whole country and drown them once
You set ablaze every tree that bore us fruits
Leaving the land in famine and fear
So tell us about the incessant hike in  pump price,
The refineries, new Universities, millions of Jobs per annum,
you told us, a dollar will not be higher than naira,
why is it on its way to a thousand naira?

Mr. Presidead, how safe will this letter reach you
Without stirring up wrath and venom
Fire and brimstone from you and your political cohorts
Gone are the days when there was freedom of speech and expression
How I wish you can make peace with corruption
Since your cryptic fight corruption was for our deformation
May I remind you, sir!
Of the travel ban on government officials from going abroad for medical treatment
And how you have daily wasted national fund
You’ve lavished national oil to revive your feeble bones abroad
Do you remember how your son was flown in an air ambulance to the UK,
Yet you call yourself Mr. integri-lie and you call us lazy youth

Lastly Mr. Presidead,
When you’ve finally burned down this house
Do you or your little cow have a castle in the air?
Think about it.

Yours faithfully,
Edison

BUHARI, THE LION IN SHEEP CLOTHING. part1 – edisonwrites

 

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