"They have failed us!, they have failed us!", the cry goes out from one household an on to another. The words of despair are whispered in the darkness, they are muttered in low tones, for here no one speaks of it, no one mentions it here, lest you are picked out from the crowd for pointing a finger and brought before a judge for speaking out in a manner likely to suggest...........
Yet, the potholes grow in all shapes and sizes and those meant to fix paid too in money bundles of all shapes and sizes. There must be a bacterial equivalent that chomps and scrunches away, how do you explain the pothole on a new road, the gully's deepen, more lights go off as the bulbs loose the fight their days spent or their source cut off, yet a contract was paid for the poles to be sunk right and the cables pulled tight.
The darkness smiles and creeps in a little further, in that dark are smiles and grins, the creeps set about to lay their traps and pounce on those that linger or are unwary. The darkness continues taking over where the lamps have failed their vigil, shying away from the few vigilant lamps that put up a fight while waiting for the sun to come out to relieve them of their duty this night.
The cry of the commoner will be dashed against the walls of bureaucracy along with the supposed effort to end their plight. I have seen them he says "They walk with a sense of importance, their noses pointed high, twas only yesterday that they were haggard and you offered them a shoulder and a hand to get them there".
Now they have forgotten who set them in that place, you are not here for handouts yet, they wave you off and point out directions over here, over there and over there, to get you out from in front of their face. You are ranked with all the others, your quest to make an honest living ignored, you are prodded with batons and shoved here and there as you scurry around toiling and plodding along, trying to make do with the little you have.
"They are shameless", they say in unison, "they dip their hands in the coffers and fill their pockets" while, we have to borrow to fill them up again, "they waste it here and there", not a care since it costs them nothing.
I see them every day, their backs are laden with taxes, while corruption eats away at their pockets, relieving them of the little they had managed to store in their pockets. They bear the scars of hard labor, boots and backs breaking, their problems blocked out by high walls, locked gates and tinted windows.
Many will go to sleep hungry and cold, as the drought, floods and bugs take away the little they had left from their toil. The hope of their young and bright snuffed out for the cake of employment has already been dished out to the lucky and the larger portion to the entitled and the connected. Since no one invests the cake never grows, yet huge sums sit in banks abroad or is buried in building that no one will occupy.
Yet even with their dreary looks, haggard steps, their hearts beat and their eyes have a glimmer of hope, the quest is not lost, a few among those that they choose understand their plight. Their hearts have not yet been turned black by greed and selfish desires, their eyes are bright and not blood shot from worry, from too many nights of gnawing at the next deal or next plot. Their hands are not soiled and God will bless their efforts, their blessings will over flow for they hear the plight of the oppressed, the orphan and the widow.
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