In this strange land, talk has become the only thing we harvest.
Leaders chew stories the way cows chew cud,
Rolling them around in their mouths again and again,
Until all the flavour is gone and only waste remains.
The big chairs are taken by small minds,
And the high halls of power echo like noisy pigeon coops,
Flapping sounds everywhere, but no flight to anywhere.
Rumour walks like a king wearing a crooked crown,
Lies are counted like coins in the national bank.
They pour gossip into cups as if it were morning tea,
And pass it around the table like bread at supper,
But the country stays rooted in one spot—
Like a tied goat watching the grass grow just out of reach.
Plans are folded neatly into pockets and forgotten,
Dreams are locked away in rusty trunks,
And progress waits at the roadside for a bus that will never come.
When foolishness drives the cart,
It will always find the ditch.
This government spins like a windmill in a desert,
Blades turning fast,
But grinding nothing.
Decisions are stitched together with feelings instead of truths,
And offices transform into whisper rooms
Where the sign on the door says “Work”
But the air smells only of idle talk.
They spend hours wrestling with shadows,
While roads crack under the sun,
Schools sag like tired plants,
And hospitals grow weeds in empty beds.
Money crawls into meeting rooms that plan the air itself,
Problems are fed with excuses until they grow fat
And fit comfortably at the family’s dinner table.
Word by word, they drown us in speeches,
As if sentences were the country’s best crop.
Around the table of chatter, corruption blooms
Like mushrooms after rain.
Teamwork quietly walks out the door,
Leaving behind hot quarrels and blame feasts.
We keep chasing in circles,
Like a tethered donkey thinking it has travelled
Simply because the rope has moved.
Truth is exiled to the gate,
And those who dare speak it are called trouble-makers.
The civil servants clap with borrowed smiles,
Cheering while the roof collapses.
Soon, the leaders become full-time comedians,
The people become ticket holders,
And policies turn into improvised jokes without punchlines.
This is a circus without a lion,
Only clowns juggling promises in the air.
If you rule with gossip,
Eventually the gossip will dry up
And your hands will be empty.
The answer is so small you could hide it in your palm:
Replace whispers with wisdom.
Trade empty boasting for a clear plan.
Swap sweet words for hard work.
Real leadership is not the loudest parrot in the tree,
But the one who listens to the forest and acts for it.
Power is not a toy -- it is a tool to build futures.
And here’s the perfect picture:
A leader who rules with laughter instead of labour
Will one day leave behind nothing but a hollow stage
Where jokes echo in an empty hall,
And the nation becomes famous
For turning every ant hill
Into a mountain for the evening news.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
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