Asikason Jonathan is a public affair analyst from Enugwu-Ukwu, Anambra State. He is a voracious reader and writer who has contributed articles to national newspapers for many years. Presently, he teaches Government and Civic Education at Kabe College, Amawbia.
The politicians
The politicians are backed trotting behind,
The façade of philanthropism.
Laden with their ill-gotten gold
They woo their now-remembered constituents.
It is election time; the politicians are backed.
Adorned in their costly agbada, the politician swoon on us.
With icing-sugar coated tongues, they beguile us,
Promising us what they promised us yesteryear.
Unfulfilled manifestoes repackaged as new.
It is election time; the politicians are back.
With money, they vitiate our ballot power,
War of conscience triggered off:
It is poverty versus democracy.
Who will fall to each other?
It is election time, the politicians are back.
When we say no, they unleash thugs on us.
They carry the ballot boxes,
And upend our elections.
Is ballot still mightier than sword?
It is election time; the politicians are backed.
Leaders of tomorrow
They groomed us for leadership
Telling us: “You are the leaders of tomorrow”
When we mount the ring, we noticed
Tomorrow never dawns in Nigeria.
Gerontocrats hijacked the stool.
Analogue minds grope in darkness of the digital age.
The youths they told to wait for tomorrow,
But tomorrow never dawns in Nigeria.
Year in year out, recycling we see.
The same old politicians wey rule Nigeria before,
Still dey rule Nigeria today.
The youths, they told to wait for tomorrow.
Economics they stood on its head; recession hits the floor
Politics they rewind to Stone Age; crisis rage on us
The benighted old men besotted with power.
Grope in the darkness of the digital age
When is tomorrow we are promised lead?
Yesterday’s men grabbed the space of today’s men
Lai, Buhari, Ogbeh we hail You
Tomorrow never dawn in Nigeria.
The enemy of people
They swept the poll.
They corned the people,
And left them to the post-truth regurgitation:
Populism is the currency of this age.
From Brexit to trumpism.
The people were corned.
Preying on their cravings for better tomorrow,
The demagogues had their way
Post -truth politics they called it.
Truth comes at last, albeit handicapped,
The damage had been done:
Wrong choice; wrong decision.
Stupid retrospection after the poll.
Nonsense demonstration after the victory speech.
What ballot made wrong; it will make right,
Wait for another election year.
Messiah cometh not
Sai Baba.
The messiah cometh,
Wielding hefty hardy hammer.
To nail our Pandora’s box.
Our opened sesame he is.
Nay, designed to be.
From the arid zone he cometh,
Khaki stripped, agbada garbed.
What consequential transubstantiation:
From despot to democrat.
Can leopard change its spots?
Alas, propaganda won the poll.
History repeated itself.
Nigeria slipped back to season of anomie
Welcome to Garrison state,
Where the messiah and allies are saints.