Political Subsidy Poem by Oluwagbemisola O. Lawal

In the heartland of Nigeria, politicians rise,
With promises as sweet as nectar, they catch your eyes,
A dance of pretence, a masquerade in disguise,
They wear a mask of hope, beneath the African skies.

They paint a picture of dreams, of a nation reborn,
With speeches of honey, and pledges before dawn,
Yet, when the campaign's glory is worn and torn,
They reveal their true colours, leaving the people forlorn.

Why, oh, why, the African leaders we mourn,
Why do we always choose the thorn over the corn?
Is it in our stars, or in the day we were born,
That we find our faith in leadership constantly torn?

Can we cast aside the bicameral, bring forth the unicameral,
Streamline our assembly, make our voices more liberal?
Can we find the strength, in our hearts so integral,
To reshape our land, and make our hope more material?

Young ones dreaming of politics, eyes full of fire,
Should they tread the same path, or aspire to inspire?
Is it the allure of power, or the desire to acquire,
That fuels their ambition and takes them higher?

Freedom, a word echoing through the Nigerian air,
Yet, the shackles of subsidy, we're forced to bear.
Fuel is gone, electricity, a nightmare,
And the burden of taxation, is too heavy to wear.

The cycle of leaders, again and again, they recycle,
A game of thrones, in a loop, it's a cycle.
When will the dawn break, for the Nigerian disciple?
When will the land be free from its long, painful trial?

For the heart of Nigeria beats, strong and unbroken,
And the spirit of her people remains as a token,
A testament to resilience, though words unspoken,
And a promise of freedom, in the winds awoken.