LET THE PEOPLE BREATHE

By Ted Ebute

They sit like gods, with power displayed, 
Deciding our tomorrows, the price we have paid. 
In shadows of self, their futures align, 
While dreams of the many in silence decline. 

The state, once a cradle, now tightly ensnared, 
Has captured its people, their hopes stripped and bared. 
We dance the dark dance, of resignation and dread, 
Trading our futures for crumbs, it is said. 

Oh, the same ones who oppress now return with their charm, 
With promises sweet, they mean us no harm. 
When elections approach, they’ll put on a show, 
And the people will gather, their memories low. 

“Let the people breathe!” is the cry on the street, 
As they munch on roast corn and fry akara to eat. 
With peanuts from hawkers, they savor the plight, 
And snap that quick selfie, in soft fading light. 

They’ll beguile us anew, their humility worn, 
But whispers of truth in the daylight are born. 
“We know you too well, your masks made of lies, 
Yet here you stand bold, with your feigned surprise.” 

“If we don’t bring you power, then stone us in scorn! 
If roads are but ruins, our promise forlorn! 
If hospitals falter when health is at stake, 
If safety’s but fiction, then cast us awake!” 

Yet still they will speak, with conviction so grand, 
And convince us again, to lend them our hand. 
The people will cheer, in a chorus of peace, 
“Let the people breathe! Let our burdens release!” 

But darkness remains, electricity’s bane, 
And roads offer danger, like coffins for gain. 
Our hospitals crumble, mere whispers of care, 
While mortuaries flourish, death lingers in air. 

The people are choking, their voices now still, 
Strangled by silence, devoured by ill. 
So we raise our hopes, but the cycle’s complete, 
“Let the people breathe!” fades to echoes of defeat. 

In echoes of sorrow, we sing and we plead, 
For a life free of shackles, for hearts that can lead. 
But shadows surround, and we can only trust, 
That one day our cries will reclaim what’s unjust.