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In the hands of the pigs

Down the streets, I see fierce men in blacks
Throwing punches and spraying bullets back
On both the dead guilty and the innocent
From such grief no man becomes a saint…

Down the streets, I pass everyday
There are a lot my eyes see and lips can’t say
If I were to write, I will run out of pages
It has been on since the rock of ages…

I see torn rags, I see fat pigs, I see hawks
I see ugly vultures perking clean rotten foods
I see little ants queueing for shrunken and fat pigs
Though most times the results are rigged…

At the other end where the grasses are green
I see different faces but the same within
For as they wear the authority band
The little ants and gullible expect a hand

A helping hand, but the route to end injustice,
Alongside corruption and malpractice
Causing sufferings to large extent
And institutionalized Government,

Making every under the roof look so dumb
As well as embezzlements in all forms,
Are the same routes fat pigs themselves pass
On a regularly on their way flying first class.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

8 Comments

  1. Sometimes, I wonder if the world is what we were told it is. Scriptures, science, history has given us several narratives, so where do we run to for help?
    If we don’t know our source, we can’t tackle our problems from it root. So help us o God.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. henhouselady says:

    Things are so confusing right now. There are too many fat pigs and vultures leading the way. Our only help is God.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Great poetry and food for thought. Shall we cook the pigs? Oh but not my pot belly please. ❤️ Cindy

    Liked by 1 person

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