FIGHT THESE THROES AT DAWN BY MUHAMMED ALI

When I recall the events of eve-days of the 2015 election; how the masses and cult-like thumbsters streamed out of their homes, swarming, as bees do to honeycombs, around the man whose personal integrity, humility and simplicity is unparalelled in the chequered history of our national public life, despite how his personality was being wildly maligned by the trumpets of the kakakists; and I witness the throes daily faced now by my country men, I wish that a magic wand could be waved to hault this suffering at its dawning time.
.
Buhari, you must fight this throes and daknesses at dawn. You must rise fought at dawn (Apology to Soyinka). For when the darkness of daytime is allowed to fester to noontime or night, the sun could loose the strength in her brightness to the fetters of barren clouds or western hills. For

.
'Voices of sorrow
still rent the air
of my earth
.
Flesh and bones
still drown in flood
of their blood
.
Men, women
and children
drift in pains
.
They flee their homes
like rabbits with holes
invaded by snakes'...
.
Yes, those lines were culled from a poem (Waiting Joy), I wrote in the days of GEJ at the rockhood, and they are still relevant today. I have been wrestling with my quasi-fanatic attachmnet to you, Mr President, and the humanistic feelings that tie my heart to my countrymen, and the altruistic umblical cord that cling me to my bleeding land, land of gleaming blackness; land, shrouded in verdure of woes, planted in the days of yore. Now, that emotional attachmnet to the masses, whose ferries are being dangerously put to a halt and marooned in an Island of despair in this sahara of time, is winning my heart, anchored to the shores of their pains in these days of prolonged drought. But
.
When again
will the brightness of this horizon
come back?
When again?
.
The horizon long jilted by the sun
that rose from the sky of
looting-jackals
when again?
.
For our dawning is bereft of rays
when again?
.
Yes, the darkness is getting darker; the hands of haulage is increasing like overstretched shadows of earth, to eclipse the moon and chase stars from the sky, to make our land bereft of light; queues are snaking longer than the colours of the rainbow, in this clime of fosil-abundance. We know that those who embarked on frigging pilfering, frittering and plundering are being forced to borrow the limbs of Usain Bolt, to search of elusive peace. And we know that the sahelian beasts that shot liquid bullets into the honeyed realm of our budding damsels are surrendering and most of them are being made to drown in their waterloo. But let it be well engraved in your sagely heart, Mr President, that an economy in comatose and abject poverty must also be necessarily mired in corruption and restiveness, for man must wack. Do something faster. Do something before our green hopes are dried in the laughter of the scorching suns of this clime. For the nauseating rays from some of their hollowed and putrid comments make me queasy. But we know that some of them are suffering from the spells casted upon their hearts by the defeitist ghosts of the vampires strangled at the polls. Some mean well. In all, we are patiently waiting, for we know it is not easy. We know...
.
That the sprouting throes of today
were deeply sowed in our yesterdays
.
And the grills from your sun rays
can't shrivel, or wither to greyness
so soon
the stubborn tegument of greenery
in the cactus and dogoyaro
of this sahara of time
this plain of drought
.
We await your rain of milky honey
we await your rain
to sprout to life
the lost vegetation in the
season of plundering spree
.
We await with salivating buccal cavity...
.
However, we need short-run succour as envisioned in the neo-keynesian 2016 budget to reflate the economy. But this short-run solution must be "shortruned" in its implementation at dawn. For 'in the long-run, in the very long-run, we may all be dead' as put by Keynes himself.