Our democracy? Whose, truly?
A snug fit for some, a misfit for many, In mimicked steps, a stumble’s impact, Trying to conform, becomes a jest.
For true worth lies not in silver’s gleam, But in honesty’s glow, a priceless beam.
A hollow reward of a pat on the back for mimicry, A pride too intoxicating, too risky.
And yet, we embellish it with our flair: With joy and acrimony,
we embrace and despair.
Roles are hindered or dictated by status: The fisherman, weary after his daring task,
Finds solace in mending nets under coconut trees’ shade, The farmer departs at dawn for his fields,
Knowing productivity wanes under the scorching sun. The industrialist employs scores,
His spare time, foreign travels for business or leisure. Public servants aspire to climb the ladder of service, But any leanings toward one faction or another
Earn them scorn and derision. The preacher is restrained:
His flock divided by sects.
The chief is constrained by status: His subjects divided by allegiance.
A game played by idle hands, Opportunists revel in chaos.
Cloaked as honourable representatives, They idle away in party offices,
Ready for anything, legal or otherwise, To earn the coveted title of party loyalist. Empowered to decide for all,
Fishermen, farmers, industrialists, nurses, teachers, pastors, chiefs, and more.
By design or happenstance, they wield unpredictability, Selling their allegiance to the highest bidder.
Our democracy?
A cherished illusion, costly.
Forty pieces of silver for over 300,000 delegates, Constricting our right of choice.
Four hundred pieces for over 192,000 delegates, The silver-soaked soul tenders.
A large sum either sect offers, But still a mere whisper
Compared to the lion’s roar of their expenditures. Idle hands elect clueless leaders,
Leaders who serve only to repay their patrons.
Bigots dominate the airwaves for a share of the spoils, Consecrated by rented pastors steep in pol-pit
And pop star flamboyance, While the wise remain silent;
The masses lulled into following tradition and tribal loyalties.
With joy and acrimony, we welcome thee,
For the right to vote is earned through sweat and blood.
Choosing to sing and dance in poverty is deemed preferable to war, they say.
So, I vote,
Vote for the lesser evil,
For the one whose ‘good’ falls short, Or for the prevaricator?
These are the choices bestowed upon us by the powers that be. Regardless, we sing and dance to welcome thee,
Singing and dancing as they enrich their families, friends, and cronies,
As developmental progress and citizen welfare are relegated to the background; Debts are settled and looting continues unabated.
A purse swollen with bribes, a burden to bear,
Yet unable to mend the broken trust of the people.
Paa Mannoh
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