Dear Mr. President,
very departmentalized space in your library
Stinks of the sweat of the innocent people.
Your sacrilegious library is decorated
With the deposited blood of the upstanding plebeians.
The contributions from the looted funds
Embellish your profoundly ‘dirty’ bookroom.
Books are intellectual garnishment that nourishes minds.
But the books in your library terrify literary minds
Of integrity that's thirsting for insatiable knowledge.
Your library stinks with the sweat of the plebeians.
Every perimeter of your library is literally dotted
With tears, sorrow, and anguish of the people.
Unfortunately, the users of your multi-billion naira aced Library are
deliberately unaware of the hidden cries of the Dead. Do you Remember the
poor pregnant women dying
From scarce water and blood transfusion during labor?
Your vast library stinks of the accumulated
Penury and sorrows. The poverty-ridden souls
In your community are crying for help that will never come!
Corruption is a way of life in your dystopian clime.
Yet, your pietism is celebrated with mediocrity
By mediocre who are intellectually dwarfed to grasp
Your narcissism, cunningness, and clever deception.
Your library has reckoning dates with history,
When the dystopian state riddled with Corruption
Will imminently mutate to a utopian state.
The looming change will rename the name of your library
With a stroke of the inimitable pen of the plebeians.
Your library is centrally situated in your rustic village.
The dwellers of your village are stunted in growth.
And roads leading to your bloodied library are famished.
Remember, the king that rules with Hobbesian formula;
And the king that rules with grace and amity
We both surely have a date with history!
I will not borrow a book from your bookroom.
I will not be complicit to reading in your bloodied library.