this illustrates politics in my country. it attempts show the perception of those always sitting at the corridors of power
I am the obedient dog, the masters' delight,
To the people I am a mystified fog
Seemingly searching some sheepish prey in sight
I am but a tool in the hand of my master,
Together we are to attain monstrous heights,
I know not my left hand from my right,
Tottering torpidly towards the tortuous top
My master is my boss; my master is my god,
My master knows it all; my master knows no fault,
Who dares go against perfection? Who is the filthy ball of mud?
Flimsily flirting with a flurry of forsaken firework
I do as I am told; it's a one way conversation,
The triggers been pulled, the bullet must respond
I must not fail; I must not bring unto me retribution
Heroically I will heap haphazard havoc,
Habitually haunting heads for the hangman's house
I am but a zombie, will-less and senseless
They are infidels, they are activists,
They must be squished, they must be squashed
They symbolize baseness
Purity must be attained, the master's purity
Can't they learn from Saro-Wiwa and Dele Giwa?
Must they exhibit profane insanity?
Can't they bury their ideologies in their heads?
They seem subservient to their doctrine,
Well! They all must go,
The master's patience has run out,
Heads must roll
The gaol's ready, the kangaroo court is set
The trap is in place, the criticism's we will bear,
Blow me the clarion horn, invite them to dine,
Let them come and dialogue for today the antelope feasts with the lions
Let us jubilate my master, lat us rejoice this day,
Pay no attention to the white mans land, they are but toothless dogs
The activists were gangrenous, leading slowly to national decay,
Continually accounting for countless circuitous crises in the country
My master is my boss; my master is my god,
My master knows it all; my master knows no fault,
Who dares go against perfection? Who is the filthy ball of mud?
Flimsily flirting with a flurry of forsaken firework
Waterfalls do dry down, gods soon fade out,
Me! Denizen of the power house,
Now a public clown fit for the sty?
A golden government guru grilled like a gourami!
I must react obliviously,
No! I will sympathize with the flying eagle,
Act the man released from captivity or better still Babylon,
Skillfully scheming my seeming return to stardom
Poetry by Awenlimobor Sylvester
Read 447 times
Written on 2007-03-12 at 14:17
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Sycophant
I am the obedient dog, the masters' delight,
To the people I am a mystified fog
Seemingly searching some sheepish prey in sight
I am but a tool in the hand of my master,
Together we are to attain monstrous heights,
I know not my left hand from my right,
Tottering torpidly towards the tortuous top
My master is my boss; my master is my god,
My master knows it all; my master knows no fault,
Who dares go against perfection? Who is the filthy ball of mud?
Flimsily flirting with a flurry of forsaken firework
I do as I am told; it's a one way conversation,
The triggers been pulled, the bullet must respond
I must not fail; I must not bring unto me retribution
Heroically I will heap haphazard havoc,
Habitually haunting heads for the hangman's house
I am but a zombie, will-less and senseless
They are infidels, they are activists,
They must be squished, they must be squashed
They symbolize baseness
Purity must be attained, the master's purity
Can't they learn from Saro-Wiwa and Dele Giwa?
Must they exhibit profane insanity?
Can't they bury their ideologies in their heads?
They seem subservient to their doctrine,
Well! They all must go,
The master's patience has run out,
Heads must roll
The gaol's ready, the kangaroo court is set
The trap is in place, the criticism's we will bear,
Blow me the clarion horn, invite them to dine,
Let them come and dialogue for today the antelope feasts with the lions
Let us jubilate my master, lat us rejoice this day,
Pay no attention to the white mans land, they are but toothless dogs
The activists were gangrenous, leading slowly to national decay,
Continually accounting for countless circuitous crises in the country
My master is my boss; my master is my god,
My master knows it all; my master knows no fault,
Who dares go against perfection? Who is the filthy ball of mud?
Flimsily flirting with a flurry of forsaken firework
Waterfalls do dry down, gods soon fade out,
Me! Denizen of the power house,
Now a public clown fit for the sty?
A golden government guru grilled like a gourami!
I must react obliviously,
No! I will sympathize with the flying eagle,
Act the man released from captivity or better still Babylon,
Skillfully scheming my seeming return to stardom
Poetry by Awenlimobor Sylvester
Read 447 times
Written on 2007-03-12 at 14:17
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
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