You stand, dressed in your fine agbada,
Hands raised high, promises as dense as smoke,
You say it’s for the people,
But your words turn to ash before they land.
We see the bags of gold you hide,
Behind the mansion’s gates, behind your lies.
The wealth you take, not yours alone,
But ours, the children of the soil.
You speak of change, of brighter days,
Yet your pockets swell, and our hopes fray.
You laugh, believing you are beyond the reach of the law,
But the ground remembers every step you take.
Your children will dine on stolen bread,
Thinking it sweet, not knowing it’s cursed.
The law you dodge will find its way,
Through time, through blood, through flesh.
What you plant in greed will grow in shame,
No legacy left but a tarnished name.
The common wealth, a river dry,
While you swim in waters meant for all.
There’s no harm in sharing,
But you hoard it all, blind to the cracks.
The law you think you rise above,
Will fall like rain, drenching those you love.
Remember when you close your eyes,
The chains you forge will bind your line.
A curse that slips through cracks of time,
Till justice comes, quiet, sure, and fine.
