A Poem Dedicated to Africa.
Title; Blood of gods on the altar of Politics.
Poet; Prince Erondu Uche.
Published Date; June 18, 2018.

I am a king and everlasting kingmaker!
I ruled in two dispensations, I enthrone and dethrone.
A feast for the lizards does anyone who fetches firewood full of ants host.

Wait!
Where were you when the barrel of machine guns were my errand boys?
Early graves were the portion of those who challenged me. The twelfth day in the sixth month i created as a day of worship before sycophants Skyjacked it. What you call corruption today in my days was chop I chop.
I still have the power of my country in my hands!

The atmosphere was tensed as thunderstorm had a romantic parley with darkness. The earth shook, the sun and the moon fled while the stars went into hiding. All creatures stood still in fear as these gods challenged themselves.

I hold the four aces!
Do not forget we grew up together, and I hold your secrets in my palms. Fools go where angels fear to tread.

Keep quiet!
I am not as notorious as you are, but I have my allies everywhere!
Your acrobatic displays are my handiwork. I set the stage for the one corner dance.
If not for my making, how on earth would people be forced to be happy on empty stomach.
I am the greatest of all!
I gave you poverty as a tool, the uninformed as weapons and shameless aged as mercenaries. My recycling technique I coded and permanently shut the door. I erected the altar of disunity, egocentricity and penury for the so called leaders of tomorrow. I realise how powerful I am each time they take sides, kill and destroy themselves, while we wine and dine together before their blind open eyes.

Fear and anger engulfed my sanity as I watched from my hiding, the clash of the dark nation's tormentors.

Our independence was negotiated to suit those we call our patriots. Beneficiaries of the current impunity talk like parrots. Our political arena is full of harlots.

They lie when they say we love you, a circle of recycled consortium who enjoy the suffering of their people. They invade our privacy and rape our morals daily for a morsel of bread.

My clueless town has been turned into clown town. The elites are divided.
The qualified are disqualified because of dollar notes.
Our young men willingly become infants, while the vibrant ones have been bewitched to accept African endless tomorrow.
The electorate are helpless. The devil you know is better than the angel you do not know becomes an option. But for how long?

As the thunder struck again, through the flash I could see another gladiator boasting sarcastically.
Blood will spill if my wish is not granted!

Yes, blood will spill indeed, but this time, it will be the blood of gods for the cleansing of our land.

Written by
Prince Erondu Uche.