It was the last day of the year 1983
Waking up with only one thing in mind
Getting ready for the watch night
That will usher us into the new year
With the enlarged Ondo State counting her losses
From the grim consequences of elections aftermaths
Only to be inundated with the uninviting martial songs
That the civilian government had been toppled
Mainly for its unbridled corruption
Otherwise ‘stigmatized’ as ten percenters
Where political gladiators took ten percent of all contracts
And gave the remaining ninety percent for the job execution
We all shouted to high heavens, or maybe deep hells
Of such insensitivity and ‘inhumanity.’
And with joyous hugs welcome stone-faced military redheads
To the ‘hallow chambers’ of our magistracies
That journey will take us other backward steps
Of nearly gruesome sixteen years
And we again found ourselves back
In full civilian regime in May 1999
After some mixture of military and civilian conjoining
With a sigh of relief
Deluding ourselves in the ever-popular democratic definition
“Government of the people, by the people, for the people.”
As propounded by President Abraham Lincoln
Then before we could blink an eyelid.
The ten percent has graduated to thirty percent
Then to fifty and seventy percent.
Meaning the officials taking seventy and giving thirty
To the contractors to do what they can with it
Yet unsatisfied and perhaps considering contractors untrustworthy
They moved into collecting the contracts themselves
Personal eyes are always better than a thousand others
‘Or the plate using its eyes to collect soup from the pot.’
They can no longer even trust others with the thirty percent
They now combined legislative, oversight and contract execution
In an unholy trinity of wickedness, greed, and avarice
But still mesmerizing the unenlightened masses
With melodramatic probes
More as coverings of their tracks
Coming to equity with soiled hands
Yet unashamed of such indignities
But addressed themselves as ‘honorables.’
To further confound the masses
That they indeed cater to their welfare
Yet they are all vultures
On the different divides
Who have one mission in common
To devour the living out of life
As they do no longer delight in carcasses
But fresh and minting
With scintillating aroma
And reckless abandon
Keeping aside for their generations unborn
Away in the safe haven of immorality
Alongside their global kleptomaniacs
Without conscience and without honor
But gathered together
As vultures ensemble
Feasting on ‘fresh’ blood of the people.
©TheVillageBoy