The Ondo of Lagos State By Debo Ikuesewo-Akinbami
Ondo State of Lagos State
The theme tilts to near sobriety, yet it's a laboratory fact, defying the mask of matters and disregarding the pretty pretexts.
Only Lagos State, in the stretch of the west has the King; the rest, kings. The Lagos', King of kings, seats on the heaps, feed on the field of the wheels. The king, the landlord swells with the size of his wealth, and the wealth wrestles the mantles around. But fertile and fatal matter embers.
He seeks, on top of a fat and fart wealth, to subdue and subserviate others. He succeeded, obviously and understandably. And sets to conquer the square state, our dear state, the Ondo State of Lagos State. Nothing daunts him, not a former fatal failure at such attempt. He's more resolute.
At it again. The time is ripened, riper than the first. He's hardened by a bolder boss, whom he stooped to cap. His gain are the gates of the west. None dares barr his others, not a bearded God, lests he soils his chance.
The Ondo State, at the mercy of Lagos State, wants the power to get powers. From the seaside of the South to the rocky, clumsy of the north, the giants dwarf around the Lagos czar for the powder for power. It doesn't matter the interest or preference of the constituents who own the state within the range of legitimacy; it doesn't matter if the Lagos dispenser of powers has a commercial agenda for offering powers and giving orders like a colonial gut; let powers be granted.
Aspirants pledge on all edge. They want power. The other day, it was a price on Mimiko's head; this price is on his back. Square swear by the dead and the living, by the swipe of the pipe; by the angst and pangs of the ants; by the teeth of the gods. Whatever the price for the prize, only power matters.
And the people wait in deadened as deafened gait. For the Order of the Lagos, president of the denizens of the west. While we wait, we pray, in the believe that the will of Lagos be done, in Ondo State.
This is the thematic, problematic dogmatism. The sweet odour of our dirty linen, our garment of gallmut pride, smeared by political hustlers, for political power.
Until we get well, sooner or never, the choices lay bear before us all, to make or break our limbs, before an overbearing King who reigns without restraint over the political midgets of Ondo State of Lagos State.
The theme tilts to near sobriety, yet it's a laboratory fact, defying the mask of matters and disregarding the pretty pretexts.
Only Lagos State, in the stretch of the west has the King; the rest, kings. The Lagos', King of kings, seats on the heaps, feed on the field of the wheels. The king, the landlord swells with the size of his wealth, and the wealth wrestles the mantles around. But fertile and fatal matter embers.
He seeks, on top of a fat and fart wealth, to subdue and subserviate others. He succeeded, obviously and understandably. And sets to conquer the square state, our dear state, the Ondo State of Lagos State. Nothing daunts him, not a former fatal failure at such attempt. He's more resolute.
At it again. The time is ripened, riper than the first. He's hardened by a bolder boss, whom he stooped to cap. His gain are the gates of the west. None dares barr his others, not a bearded God, lests he soils his chance.
The Ondo State, at the mercy of Lagos State, wants the power to get powers. From the seaside of the South to the rocky, clumsy of the north, the giants dwarf around the Lagos czar for the powder for power. It doesn't matter the interest or preference of the constituents who own the state within the range of legitimacy; it doesn't matter if the Lagos dispenser of powers has a commercial agenda for offering powers and giving orders like a colonial gut; let powers be granted.
Aspirants pledge on all edge. They want power. The other day, it was a price on Mimiko's head; this price is on his back. Square swear by the dead and the living, by the swipe of the pipe; by the angst and pangs of the ants; by the teeth of the gods. Whatever the price for the prize, only power matters.
And the people wait in deadened as deafened gait. For the Order of the Lagos, president of the denizens of the west. While we wait, we pray, in the believe that the will of Lagos be done, in Ondo State.
This is the thematic, problematic dogmatism. The sweet odour of our dirty linen, our garment of gallmut pride, smeared by political hustlers, for political power.
Until we get well, sooner or never, the choices lay bear before us all, to make or break our limbs, before an overbearing King who reigns without restraint over the political midgets of Ondo State of Lagos State.
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