Neocolonial charades

"They say I should forget, move on they say, how can I move on?

When the echoes of tyranny still linger, when the scars haven't withdrawn.

The ruling class feigns disgust, yet dances to neocolonial tunes,

Their praise for oppression, like vile incense, pollutes the afternoon.

Oh, working class, their revulsion simmers, their hearts seethe,

Forced to applaud colonial exploits, to nod and deceive.

But beneath their masks of compliance, a fire quietly burns,

Yearning for liberation, for justice, for lessons learned.

The love for neocolonial overlords, a poison so sweet,

Blinding their senses, numbing their feet.

Yet in the depths of their souls, a whisper of dissent,

A longing for autonomy, a quest to reinvent.

Colonialism's acts, lauded by those in power's sway,

While the oppressed cling to dignity, day by day.

Disgust coats their tongues, bitterness their creed,

As they navigate a world built on exploitation's greed.

So let us not forget, let us not move on,

But confront the legacy of colonialism, until it's gone.

For in unity and resistance, lies the power to reclaim,

A future untainted by the stains of oppression's shame."