He sits under the golden tree
On the biggest of the silver stools
Breathing wealth and sending free
The money fools
He walks only under the golden umbrella
Held by the stoogy jesters
Spewing words that even he doesn’t believe but people deem filla
He promises with such gestures
Manly man of youthful blood
Who has strength but is blind
Pointing sticks where needles thread
And pushing hard, where walls are caked
The people cry
And he shouts his ‘try’
But stands apace
And run a race
Hunger seeps
As his worthy lions graze citizens heads
His blindness peeps
Only the ingratitude of his subjects
Life is foul
Get up, sit up,
Take out your blindfold
And lead the way.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.
Mum Cee 