1. The Pothole’s Toll
This sonnet reflects on the physical decay of infrastructure caused by diverted public funds.
The asphalt cracks beneath the humid sun,
Where billions bled to line a silken vest.
The road that was to link the many, one,
Is now a grave where broken hopes must rest.
From Lagos wharf to Kano’s dusty gate,
The phantom bridges sway in ledgers bold,
While mothers weep for sons who met their fate
In craters carved by silver and by gold.
The contract signed with pens of peacock quill
Has built no wall, nor lit the darkened street;
It only fed the greed that’s never still,
And left the weary with their blistered feet.
The road is gone, the budget swallowed whole,
By those who trade the nation for their soul.
2. The Ghost in the Machine
A look at "ghost workers" and the bureaucratic rot within the civil service.
A thousand names that never walked the hall,
Are paid in silence while the living starve.
The ledger grows, though no one hears the call,
As phantom hands the public bounty carve.
The desk is empty, thick with ancient dust,
Yet paychecks vanish into hidden deeps,
A system built on rot and broken trust,
While justice in her tattered garment sleeps.
The teacher waits for wages long delayed,
The nurse tends wounds with nothing but a prayer,
For every cent that’s carefully mislaid
Is stolen from the common, heavy air.
A nation haunted by the men unseen,
Who drain the life from every bright machine.
3. The Ballot and the Bag
Focusing on electoral corruption and the commodification of the democratic process.
A bag of rice, a thousand-naira note,
To buy the future for a single day.
The hungry man must sell his sacred vote,
And watch the morning shadows slip away.
The ballot box is stuffed with whispered lies,
While ink is dried upon a rigged decree,
And underneath the broad and open skies,
We trade the chance of being truly free.
The "Ghana-Must-Go" bags in shadows wait,
To grease the palms of those who guard the gate,
While children dream of leaving for a state
Where merit isn't measured by the plate.
But when the feast is done and crumbs are shed,
The people wake to find their promise dead.
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