by Qudus Olabode
I find shadows of a giant clan
crumbs of her past in many fragments
crumbles of the southern wells
the gully of western plantations I find worrisome
Why worry thyself I thought
Growth has come to stay
Growth of the human plague
The inferno of human greed
Brimming with lust of lethal fire.
Steaming down the shores of our wells
Burning down the peasants shed
Now we are homeless,
the whole world make mockery of our rags
With a child born with streaming fluids of royalty
Thriving on pride of the savanna
I bare no grudge of our fortune
But why do the many fortunes leave the peasants with wealth of penury.
It’s another harvest
I find relics of fossils
washed up the wells of south
built with toils of western harvest.
I find nothing of those wells except their many droughts
I find nothing of those harvests, except the famine they brought
Why we wander and languish on fertile grounds
A huge belch when they milk our harvests dry
Another juice from our sweat
How sweet would the sweat grill the fruits of greed
We harvest fruits never to be fed upon
Build dreams never to be found in our rest.
– Qudus Olabode wrote in from [email protected], and tweets from @Drave9
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