The Pawn Game
I need all your ears here
A putrid history we’ve had
of rulers who are cheetahs
and they’ve really maid a fool
of us by milking us so dry. When
shall the butcher’s child eat meat?
Perhaps when the sun stops smiling
and the oceans lost their tides
and the stars lost their shining lights
and the moon gets dried up forever.
Each time our mandates are to be
carted away from us just as the
chariots stole Elijah from Elisha,
their tongues they’d dip in a rancid
honey just to make us let go of our
Juicy mandates. When they get the
seat, they become an expert in villainy.
A pawn we turned out to become
and to us they gave a tuber of yam
by snatching the cooking utensils
from us. Unguarded, we were led to
the battle front only to become a lost
Pawn while the Rooks, Knights and
Bishops watched the game in disgust.
Now did it become a clear picture
that our bellies did they feed just
to slaughter us later like the chicks
reared only to end up in the pot
of festivity soup. What a life to be
a bait as an unworthy Pawn!
Bard Tosin Morakinyo