Poetry

In the land of Ghavy.

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Pockets of words
Hidden under pretense of philosophies.
Policies marry realities.
White papers travel without diapers.
Do they have a fare
To pay for the loads they carry?
Or the blood of the innocent
Will electronically transport them?

Well,
When our pockets are without voices,
When the little voices are choked
With bribery,
When corruption is a constitutional game
Played on the thump’s field,
Foundations will cry weak.
Their weaknesses will birth more.
More of greedy hearts.
Hearts killing without guns.

Well,
Let’s go to the book of Nepepis.
And ask Mr Nabao
If it’s true to dust the eyes
With the dust of promises
In the land of Ghavy.

Oh! it’s time to load the mind.
Let me pass to blow the mine.
Before I loose a dime.
With the passing time.
Cos’ things are really high.

Edem Fodeka