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“The Plunderers” talks about oppression and corruption in Nigeria. Nothing seems to be working thanks to the kleptomaniacs who derive joy in impoverishing the masses. The poet reminds the people that docility and inaction against the system reinforce corruption. That by keeping quiet instead of taking action, we are a part of the plunderers.

The plunderers are not those
who gulps our collective crop
like a drunkard filled to the brim
hungry for more palm wine
with jaws dripping out stinking sap,
and still in need of more.

The plunderers are not those
who rape our farms of their nutrients,
and rust the hoe of its shine.

They are not those
who sabotage the growth
of the tender tendrils to sprout.

under the sheets

Neither do they restrict
their hands from touching
the dirt on the soil,
their backs from the sweat of the toil,
but crave the big yams in the barn.

The plunderers are you and I,
who gets frightened by the growls of
the scorchers, clearing the path
for their foot, after leaving the barns
in flames, and stacking yam tubers
in sacks.

The plunderers are us, the whiners,
for through our inactions,
we’ve gifted a few pot belly’s
the liberty to wreak havoc
like vampires on our harvests.

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