The survival chant,
grows louder louder,
growls of the masses are
roar of hungry lions.
The penury and disaster
becloud the atmosphere,
like dust during November harmattan.
The impoverished clutch their ambitions,
with their jittery fingers
expecting droplet of vain promises
to sooth their discontented hearts.
The crooked,
known for their trickery and foul play,
take pride in their dubiousness,
while the gullible
wallow in their buffoonery,
waiting for the messiah as
their wobbling gait
becomes dance of death.
On their feet,
are scraps of broken dreams
and trampling on them is
the purveyor-of-dreams-turn-oppressor,
fanning the amber of hatred and division
and seducing their spirits
into a never-ending catastrophe.
(c) Editoro Dennis
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