Coup Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

The tailor booted at sixty told he's inept
Caused the economy to grew malignantly
Adding zeros at freewill accumulating to
Six figures a note,   Amnesia spoken off

If not for the gun held to my forehead
I would have inquired for justice thwarted,
Too, to have denied the self imposed amnesia
Of a century blood overwhelmed by power

Though ruthless be the trailer I will protest
In rage the impartialities brought and deny
Being the victim of circumstances today
The brave voices enchants to wage war

Alas the son of soil got me yoked and mocked
Dancing in the dust, Storms so inflicting
His authority even questioned by her actions
A coup in disguise as she grace his crown.