The Mother Planet is perverted with putrefaction
It’s inhabitants are housed in subversion
Making ends meet is gauged by cronyism
The State Affairs are scaled in nazism

As a daughter after Mama’s own heart
She sees Mama with favourites
Not meritocracy
At tender age, young and exuberant
She runs errands based on a condition
She receives a compensation for neglect
Of her rightful responsibilities

As adored by Father
He watches Father transact black trades
And sees Him clothed with flimsy glories of the streets
But beneath His white garment
Is a belt of vile and putridity
There his foundation solidly lays
On the rock of the father’s epitome

In the year-end
We receive their welfare messages and promises
We go to the box to decide
Oblivion that rigging had its way
The choice has already been decided

They lift high the banner of the land
To win the sight of the Innocents
But behind, they make new flags and anthems
They preach communism and socialism
Yet they uphold familism

They are masked professionally
But under-table transactions are their priority
The power of the brown envelope
And the lustre of the white envelope
Is never regarded a liability

In hotels
They attend important State functions
They cry of gnawing hunger and sores from the helm responsibilities
Yet the choiced menu embraces niceties
And their caucus solely welcomes obnoxious alliance

We hear their sermons of financial stability
But they are veils for the ponzi and pyramid schemes
Barter trading; their means of bettering lives

In the courtroom
The Innocent is victimized and vindicated
The Angel Devil, the Ignoble Noble
Is acquitted and discharged
Oh legality sold at the expense of cash!
Security;now for aiding and abetting the obnoxious

In literacy
What you know is an error
But who you know is the odor
She could have no distinction
If solely not to pay in kind

Then we watch deaths
In the hands of forged scientists
The streets embrace us and our wheelbarrows
The sun provides us shade
And hydrates our body with tiny rivulets of sweats

With the press
We lost our voice
They display their welfare messages and promises
And not their real schemed intentions
You are welcomed by their homicidal guns
Hidden in the comfort of their black zoot suits
If you choose to be a revolutionary

Uncountable
The whistle has been blowing
They hear our lamentations with a grin
They give unwilling apologies
They carve appealing flimsy cover-ups
But the deeds are on the rise

In the year-end
Their messages of welfare and promises
Crawl on the belly at our doorsteps
To choice them once more
In our state of reverberation
We choice one thought to be better
Oblivion that lions can wear lambskins