Mrs. D

 To the dreadful Mrs. D,

thin-faced, bespectacled  calamity

handing down an injustice to the despondent Wiwa

where are you now, at sixty, hobbled and aging 

do you sleep and dream of comfort or peace

or is your mind tormented by a plethora of evil that bedeviled your career

did Nemesis cut you short like the abomination you are,

or did God in his knowledge grant you a life of luxury and peace you denied others;

To the dreadful Mrs D,  a product of the Nigerian corruption

that has festered and mutated into something unfeasible

the deadened conscience of the heartless medics

the injustice of the Justices

the nonchalance of the police

the brute force of the Lekki shooters

The Nigerian has metamorphosed into something worse than evil

and I dread to age in a society of the soulless

where living is negotiated

Oh Mrs D, who feathered her nest,

and destroyed the tree

you are part of the evil that has born fruit 

and destroys everyone its shadow falls upon



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