It’s easy to add your own shit to the pile,
‘It’s messed up already’, you whisper to quieten your nagging conscience
It revolts, but you were bent, ‘just this one’, you assure your conscience again.
True, It’s all smelly and rotten, age-long garbage and historical mess. It’s obviously in a ruin, you shouldn’t be blamed– it has been before you, why should you be different? You ask!
Who will clean up the mess made by all? Who will be the messiah of the mess?
‘We await him’ you say. But while we wait, let us continue with our mess pattern. We are human, perfection isn’t meant for us, you murmur.
The messiah arrives, he’s overwhelmed at the mass of mess. Where does he start from? he’s picking the mess from top when another Mess-ist, a blind one-pours his own mess from the storey, burying the messiah deep in the pile of mess.
From the mess he is buried in, the messiah tries to unearth himself;
Again, another pile discharged from the mess of a household- all on the messiah.
“The children are dying,
Our homes are infected
Where is the messiah?! He is doing nothing, incapacitated old fool”
Schools lack desks,
Our roads leads to grave,
Idleness becomes the only job,
What is the Messiah doing? Even mess-ists ask
Do you realise what difference it will make if you refuse to add your garbage to the already messed up arena?
Do you realise what difference it will make if the next 100 mess-ists like you did-if they also refuse to add to the mess?
Yes, it is messed up, but don’t drop that banana peel
Yes, no one is looking, but don’t pick what isn’t yours,
Yes, he is not from your tribe, but consider his merit,
Yes, the noble way is long, but avoid the crooked boulevards.
Think about it.
Our progress lies not in the hands of one leader who would jump out of the clouds bearing a calabash and an eagle but right in our hands–individually and collectively.
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