(On Political Instability & Leadership Crisis)

A ship once set for golden shores,
Now drifts where tempests twist its oars.
The stars once clear, the path once bright,
Now swallowed whole by endless night.

The captain sways with pockets full,
He steers through storms, yet charts the lull.
His words like waves that crash and turn,
Yet leave the deck to drown and burn.

Each promise stitched in tattered thread,
Each map a lie, each hope long dead.
The sailors cry, the mast decays,
Yet still they sail through endless haze.

A compass spins with rusted hands,
No needle points to honest lands.
For when the helm serves greed alone,
The sea will claim what men disown.