December, births us merriment
A unique festival of the moment
When Families and friends, reunited
Love and Gratitude’s spark is ignited.
Somehow, the season’s vibes are marred
Like getting a litre of fuel is hard
For fuel, serpentine lines somewhere
Searching, our fuel is nowhere.
In the scorching sun we queue
Waiting for some litres of fuel
In the dusty harmattan we view
Searching for black market to fill.
Jollof Rice’s money, fuel ate
Toil over toil, the plebs feel
Money for fuel, black market ate
Where is our fuel?
Politicians with hearts of stone
Men whose conscience is gone!