Those we thought are our
protectors,
protectors,
Their action have turned them to
dictators,
dictators,
Their station is the society’s
incinerator.
incinerator.
The road is their main workshop,
And they pretend holy like an
archbishop,
archbishop,
While our pocket produce them crop.
We thought police is our friend,
The nation; our mother.
And the government, our father.
But with them, corruption moves
further,
further,
Have they forgotten that without
the ruled,
the ruled,
There is no ruler?
Our protectors are our enemy,
They are just infamy,
With the expressway as our
battlefields.
battlefields.
And our journeys raise fewer
yields,
yields,
In a nation that cherish
corruption,
corruption,
Bribery is the right order of the
day.
day.
If there could be thorough
transformation,
transformation,
Most will receive the pay,
They are just like blocks mounted
on our ways.
on our ways.
Corresponding to the pillar of
Mapo hills,
Mapo hills,
Our home is the only free way,
Only if we don’t die of bills.
written by Sanusi Ameenah
sanusihaminattolani@gmail.com