POEM 164: Nigeria - II 

In the Aso race tracks, 
knights reigns with tremor in defeat of the swift.
Glazing mud walls to look like brick,
flaunting fatty muscles in vain sacrifice;
one stone, three flings,
You don't believe?
Past sins washed with cheap Hypo-cleansing,
not even the gods could pin-point a single sin.
And so beyond every comprehensions
they hit the tracks and race along,
straining the limbs of histories to reprise, 
how the masses' choice turns into ice,
and the winner clings on to power,
to be the referee, sprinter and spectator,
and sip honey, life-long, from Aso rock.

- Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

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