Justice In Auction Poem by Adams Elizabeth Oyarese

We had cried to the scorching sun
An expression of youthful forlorn
An orchestration to air our needs
Peaceful but firm were our deeds

Alas! the heralds of her arrival
Our mother! A hope beclouding hopelessness
Together we scrambled around her entourage
Like wailing babes in need of a mother's massage

But our mama had renamed herself as barren
And turned deaf to the cries of her expectant children
We craved a rescue from our partial darkness
Only to be graced with permanent blackness

Our only crime was the belief in democracy
A misapprehension! A mirage! A meticulous mockery!
Shots of bullets against our unarmed bodies
Battered, bruised and yet rebirthed as hoodlums

For where is the future of this shambolic nation
If the leaders of tomorrow are perishing today?
When shall justice be not portrayed as auction
Haggled and bought by only the highest pay?

By: Elizabeth O Adams
Lizdiamond world of poetry