The August Generals

They rolled out in hard armoured cars,
following in straight lines of iron.
And all the strategic places fell.
There was harsh martial music in the air.
And every nerve taut with subdued suspense.
The masses watched in wide eyed fascination,
as one by one like axed Irokos.
The old generals fell in prostration.

All the local leaders called out their folds.
The people waving their banners in true mobilization.
As in answer to the national call,
the patriots came out in long processions.
There were shouts of welcome wishes and congratulations.
Now the Head of state is gracefully taking his throne.
He’s nodding in acknowledgment to the loud ovations.

While at home men sat,
eyes glued to their tellies.
Watching those drunken with joy in the streets.
As in abandonment they danced rolling on their bellies.
Clapping and hailing their new Excellencies.

And dressed in the symbols of the new dispensation,
the old sycophants were there again.
Bearing high the General’s image with all adoration.

Everyday the march pasts,
everywhere long solidarity demonstrations.
With goodwill messages from across the nations.
Processions and processions all the way.
For the August Generals had carried the day.