The Façade | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 161: THE FACADE

Which tenure, believed, this martyr

the one, which seeks, the masses' window and backdoor

entry, to die for?

What living horror could best qualify

for the crumbs that drop from plenty

and the sighs that leak from many

when men, measure men, in manifestos?

An awakening, of few, brittle minds

with millions to spare

for the simple, a many simple minds

in millions to bear with pious pain

the hopeless hopes of change again

sold on a platter of gold to the senile again

whose face still reminds us day after day

our vote’s worth, more than, jingoism vain!

We, after every four weeks of months in twelve

swarm the streets to deify these grisly gods

with jawless mouths and grumbling belly

and eyeless holes that see no farther beyond the nose.

And never learn, from history pages

'There they go again!

'Beware! Beware!'

Like zombies depicted in Fela's song

we gape at faceless nameless men

and dance around the church screaming AMEN!

But forget to gauge the omen

that waits lurking at a four-year door

screaming on rooftops

'It is a façade! Spit it out!'

Alas! We all are dead deaf

and this poem, another failed attempt

at the first three verse.

#365DaysOfPoetry

#Pengician

#SSA

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