24/7 PLIGHTS, NOT LIGHTS.

— A political lament by Blanç.

Ahem...

So, the 2027 elections are drawing near,

Another season of promises, deception and fear.

Our dear regime leader wants another four years,

Promising 24/7... but the lights aren't even here.

Be wise and not nice, my brothers, take heed,

He's promising 24/7 plights, not light indeed. 🥲

A Benefactor of the APC brotherhood's ways,

Determined to secure another four years of praise.

Another World Cup under economic slavery,

Another four years of national recovery... supposedly.

Think carefully, gentlemen, don't surrender your right,

Don't sell your tomorrow for a meal tonight.

A youth who sells his vote for a temporary coat,

Is like a lawyer without his coat.

Like a livestock farmer who revokes his goats,

Or a doctor with scissors cutting his own throat.

Fawwwwwk! 🤧

HOW EXACTLY DO YOU EXPECT TO SURVIVE?

When the very hands that sell your future are still alive?

When the rice is consumed and the money is gone,

But the consequences of your bargain keep marching on?

If a bag of rice is the ultimate price,

You've placed on your like, then YOU'RE NOT WISE!!!!!

Because four years from now, when the plights unfold,

You'll discover that your tomorrow was terribly undersold.

And isn't that funny, in a rather painful way?

How politicians remember us when it's election day.

Suddenly, we're brothers, we're family, we're one,

Until the votes are counted and the promises are done.

Then darkness returns, and the generators roar,

Another hungry morning, another empty store.

Another electricity bill for power we never see,

Another beautiful promise of what Nigeria could be.

FAWWWWK. 😭

Please, let's be wise, don't entertain the lies,

Don't trade your future for temporary supplies.

Take a stand, understand, let your conscience arise,

For the price of your freedom is too great to compromise.

And perhaps, just perhaps, someday we'll get by,

Get our little visas, pack our bags and fly.

Not because we never loved the land beneath our feet,

But because we're tired of begging for a life that's meant to be sweet.

Perhaps we'll find somewhere the streetlights actually glow,

Where tomorrow isn't something we're afraid to know.

Where living isn't warfare, and surviving isn't a prize,

Where the government remembers that its people are alive.

...

But until that day comes, my brothers, open your eyes.

Don't sell your vote.

Don't purchase another four years of cries.

24/7 PLIGHTS. NOT LIGHTS.

Fawwwwwwwk. 🤧🥲😭

— Blanç, a gentleman running out of reasons to laugh.