SHADOWS OF THE WHISPERED COUP

In shadows deep where whispers breed, a phantom coup haunts the midnight air, and elusive hands plant in the shaky land a seed of fear that chokes each gaze with tight despair.

Informants lurk behind each watchful door, horror whispers through the cracked walls, sudden knocks silence voices on the floor, as suffocating terror coldly mauls.

Serial arrests like thunder split the night: Obasanjo chained and dragged to silent cells, Yar’Adua’s star dismembered from our sight, as betrayal reigns where friendship once dwelt.

On that day the tribunal wore a brutal guise, conspiracy spun its own envenomed thread, and paranoia breathed a lethal, venomed prize where loyal fraternal blood was swiftly shed.

While Abacharic relics haunt us to this date, official lies still entomb the sacred truth, leaving only speculation to rule the slate as the nation still endures the beatings of steel’s cruel tooth.