Wow, it turns out Trump was right.
I saw it on “the Onion” - posted overnight.

Scientists woke up today and the virus
was simply gone - the miracle - has happened.
And they said that Trump was wrong!

The once dying - started laughing
first responders broke into song
patients shrugged off ventilators
they can go back home where they belong.

That God has been so merciful
is a story ripped from scripture
and since Trump - the antichrist - is here
we can move on to the rapture!

Who’s our leader?
The one who has the most money!
Are they compassionate?
I don’t know but they are rich!

Oh virgins, daughters of the defiled
I feel your blood crying, your soul on a flight
Uncovered darkness made naked
Your soul now a cheap commodity in the world market.

Where lies your strength lies your weakness
Your soldiers are drunk with your enemies wine
Your tears have become your elite happiness
In unrighteousness your sanctuaries celebrate crimes.

Oh my land, a bride once envied
Now dancing in between hell and heaven
Your contemporaries impatiently await to clap at your fall
In a maze, your springs war themselves over unknown gods.

Oh dis-flowered sons of a barren gun
When will your defiled heart see the ditch well dug for yourselves?
My sympathy has deserted me for your unborn sons
You are convincing me that you will wake after burying yourselves.

Oh king of a defiled throne
You are not too blind nor deaf to know we have cast our stones
You are our Jona please leave our boat
Let see how well our hopes can sail us home.

**** nation
Conversing with ammunitions.
Hearts that are barely loyal
Being served by humbled soldiers.

No wonder peace has been conquered
And war the man on the altar.
Her habitants live like their souls are on trial
And their god a liar.

**** nation
Her masses are speechless creatures
Ruled in cluelessness
Jubilating in bitterness.

**** Nation
Driven by greedy intentions
Stomach fed with promises
Sleeping and waking in calamities.

**** nation
The fat ones are the vultures
Termites and cankerworms haven
The thinning path between hell and heaven.

**** nation
Where the safest place is the grave
Saints nation rebirth to a **** nation
Where unity and faith are slaves.

Hmm! My **** nation of tears
Unfortunately, I'm fortunate to be born here
blessed with everything, cursed with leadership,
Born into miseries, dying in hardship.

A **** nation in a tunnel
Crowded with diverse starlets
Being forced to drain down the funnel
Crying blood for a spark soonest.

They tell us,
About a great future.
They tell us it is coming,
Not today but tomorrow.

Our dear Nigeria,
A safari for its rulers,
Stealing our freedom,
Yet showing a victorious future.

Our leaders,
They keep on telling us,
Democracy,
Of the people,
By the people,
For the people.

They come as bearers,
Bearing freedom,
Removing slavery's chains and rods,
Yet trampling on our humanity.

Our leader's democracy,
A temple built with words,
Yet plastering it with,
Power and constant deceit.

They bribe our conscience
They fail to discharge their duties,
Yet singing victorious praises of their democracy,
Telling the world of vague achievements.

They play their drama,
Displaying it in public,
Showing a ****-a-doodle-doo of theatre,
Narrating nothing significant.

They claim to hear our cries,
Yet they are blind spectators of beauty,
Having no eat for our mass cries.

Democracy,
Their ideology of power.
Their way of life
A culture so dear to them

Democracy,
A backwash from future's deep
A begraggle of corrupt leaders
A pointer to Me, My Belly and I

They claim we have rights,
Yet they keep us in chains.
Their democracy,
An emblem of an immoral compass.

I look out my balcony window,
Waiting for change.
I stand at my front door,
Hoping for a brighter tomorrow.

My father waited
My mother hoped
I in turn prayed
Our children echoed

I dream of a great democracy
I dream of liberation
I put down my pen,
It is tired of being,
Mightier than the sword.

Oh democracy
I raise my hand up in your honour
Nigeria's democracy,
Our leaders' famous slogan.

If you did, then you would
but you don’t, so you won’t,

to pretend otherwise
makes an *** out of you
and a corpse out of me

Let’s think
of the sunk cost fallacy
whereby
the sweat, tears and cash
you’ve ****** into your endeavours
means you never let go
of your burning ambition
so you beg borrow steal
to stave off the immutable truth
that you’re wrong

Then let’s think
that instead of a business
or crazy high jinks
you invested in the sense that
some humans outrank others
at birth
and hidden behind the privilege
of that thought you ignored
what was often in front of your face
or at your work place
or fatally jogging through your neighbourhood
til it shone straight in your eyes

and your beg steal borrowing
does nothing
because lies and filthy ideologies
can’t stand the light of day
so grasp as you will at
the pictures and voices of shills
who defend the grotesque
and try to mess up a people,
a nation,
with fat cat, fat handed,
fat tongued oppression
your fingers *****, but empty

The lesson:

it’s ok to be wrong

it’s ok to draw lines
under ugly pasts
so futures can be brighter,
you can apologise,
learn
and make right

I stand here today:
The mayor of this broken town;
The president you needed;
The one to lead us home.

Except today, you sit.
You do not feel joyous.
You do not believe.
You have fallen, clutching for dear life.

Tomorrow, I think, will be more.
Lustrous I am, at the thought:
Of my own words;
Of my own promises.

Give to you what I plan for me,
Giving back what I did not take.
Tomorrow, you will have more than today,
You will have more than you could ever dream.

Realism was never my strong point.
I stand here full of dreams.
I stand here with less than you need.
But I stand here.

Because yesterday was the worst of all.
Yesterday broke us.
Yesterday took a piece of us with it,
Took more than we can replace.

You sit quietly, teasing the words from my mouth.
It is you I stand here for.
Your soulless eyes waiting,
For me, for more.

Something is rotten,
but not in the state of Denmark
the body politic is sickening from the spread
as the virus flows and ebbs around us
but that’s not the biggest threat
to our collective, collected health

the insidious radiation that emanates
when certain men step out
from their lead-lined bunkers
is weakening our sinews,
loosening our hair and teeth
and mocking and braying at our grief

backed up as it is
by mustard gas clouds of lies
built on the bones of xenophobes and the afraid
some with excuses, or, whatever,
but most with puce, spittle-flecked faces
apoplectic at the creep-dawning realisation
of their impotent, way it’s always been ways

and like the Cnuts they clearly are
rather than retreat from the waves
and figure out more sensible ways to behave
as centuries progress
they will ‘make a stand’
thick, bitter filled pint-mug in hand
‘til the tide will see them drown

meanwhile on dry, rich land
the tin-*** Machiavellis
rub their hands and drive long away
to have their eyes tested,
divest themselves of kids,
or check on their second homes
as the bloated bodies bob out to sea
all too slowly

all sky up on the mighty
begging of your own boundaries
heady with the ego

you present leadership
insecure
in a blunt tottering charge

an unfastened distraction
fear dominated
  and flinging fear
   as a sense blunting weapon
  scattering the people
cleaving them confused
polarized and susceptible