Riling democracy on bayonet

By Atok Dan

In the fallacious democracy of our time,

We know that we want,

That we talk of,

Military uniform in action,

bayonet at work

guards on alert

Democracy of the dead,

With riling democracy of nascent states on the continent,

report it the way we say it,

in the perfection of our demands,

we still call it our excellent democracy

having not seen it does less of a denial

of its existence,

Our democracy at work

Nuisance and nonsense democracy of nascent states

On riling democracy, we cry faults

A bullet rivals ballots

A bullet riddles ballots boxes

A boot stampedes peaceful queues of jovial voters,

Democrats end up in cemeteries for votes rigged

In riling the democracy of looters,

Heroes draped like hounds on the race course,

Readied to kill,

To maim in exchange for bloody victory

But multiple orphanages are their offspring

Sufferings,

Destitution form part of a claimed victory

In only democracy of the dead can equality prevail,

Where winners wound off for soil

In riling democracy on the bayonet,

Demos are heavy-handed by the apparatus of power,

Wolves of fixed procedural outcomes

Determinants of the stage,

Of expressions of sorts

Log of wood on a sailing boat

By Atok Dan

On a sailing boat, lies a log of a dead wood

Lying permanently on the wishes of glory seekers,

On wishes of sycophants

they adore it,

glorify it

But masses are dead logged behind the wood

No way but deadly lies their way permanently

Its removal negates their source of survival

It renders them a dry pasture

Its beneficiaries behave like scabies patients  

Log of dead wood on a speedy boat,

an iceberg on a water highway

On Long Highland and Suez Canal,

On the Mediterranean and Pacific Ocean  

Deterrent on a free flow of Nile water

Log of dead wood on a sailing boat is a liability to progressing village

It hinders progress but glory seekers adore it

Adorn it with ornaments of a village

       The wealth of a village

An occupant of a rotten seat

Liability of a nation

On the mercy of ignorant masses

Log on a running dugout canoe on the Nile flourishes,

well amongst emaciated faces

Guided by a flock of wolves armed with swords of death

Only can they heed orders from a dead log

Only can they execute a flare

For they can only salvage in a mess of a village

A log of dead wood impedes the flow of ideas,

 never applauded wealth of wisdom at its reach

only can it swagger with pride in its own messes

in its mushroom-liked decorated attires,

guards flap their wings in an appraisal

it is the zeitgeist of selfish driver

Plague of our time

By Atok Dan

Our plague, our curse of time

When we talk of it, it fails us most

dubbed in reddish appearance,

it glows with wild wind on our land,

its wings and claws are as hard as cuticle

 on the back of an ancient tortoise under the sea

the plague of our time

Its sharp teeth penetrate flesh like lightning

the plague has shaken our foundation,

rifted our wings of happiness,

corroded our bank reserve

our padlock suffers from its hard blows

peripheries of our nation had never imagined,

the dreadfulness of the plague that renders our yellow star blurred

The two tribes of the nation vow no more patriotism,

the poor and the rich that form our national dichotomy

all are plagued by the abysmal

neither the poor nor the rich secure endowments of our land

all have gone in greed

the plague of our time is the beast of the modern era

pillars of the national foundation became flimsy

we are bound with no bonds of a durable house that can withstand storms

plagued in no time of history,

not even years have gone by to warrant such a mess

In only a calendar,

 our blood is riddled with caffeine,

 a misdeed of failed states