Two Sides of the a Dictatorial Coin

New year, new tyrant!

One that seeks good.

If "good" can be translated into "oil."

His name fell from balconies and throats,

Spat like a curse finally dethroned.

The streets rang with the sound of freedom—

A nation exhaling after decades of chokehold customs.

Yet things stained with evil

meet the same fate.

Proof that power could bleed, could bend.

They crowned the moment with music and tears,

Believing justice had crossed their borders

Without a visa, without a gun.

In that hour, hope wore the mask of victory,

And corruption was caged—

Or so it seemed.

Yet the key that sealed the cuffs

did not come from clean hands.

It crossed oceans

like pigs that could smell oil and dominance.

The captor spoke of order and freedom

from a throne built on sanctioned fear,

where borders are disregarded

and sovereignty is a suggestion, not a right.

A sermon dressed as salvation.

He called it justice,

called it protection of the world,

redrawing lives with each stroke,

teaching the globe a familiar lesson:

that power never arrives empty-handed.

So the captive stood,

a mirror facing another mirror.

One tyrant bound, another applauded.

One devil dethroned, another sanctified.

"They" cheered the fall,

unaware the show in front

is but a drizzle before the storm.

They cheered, they applauded,

they celebrated the wicked’s fall

at the hands of a violator of protocol.

So for now, celebrate and rejoice—

the fall of a corruptor,

for tomorrow shall usher another dictator.

They truly are two sides of a dictatorial coin.