Man can do what he wants
When he wants what he does
Most shoes are strapped against the foot’s will
Merriment and misery mostly managed as an oxymoron
Such nostalgic epilogue
Are there more ants than we have children?
If there are, is the child not supposed to be the boss?
If that’s true, how plucky is the Ants’ virus to sanction the child’s paralysis
For hours or days, weeks or months, years or forever?
There she stood transfixed
Shivering in steaming perspiration
Right at the centre of a frosty solar-perplexity
Oh life! She screamed, only to see no sound
Oh heavens! She glanced up, only to hear no sky
There goes the train’s whistle
Here comes unicorn-dreams
There lies the salvation
There escapes the revelation
Here stays the temptation
All for the course of what nation?
This is our contemplation
One notion spells out the birth of one nation
Nation then procreates;
Breeding boastless billions of her ancestors
So she stops staying single
After all, someone said something about fruitfulness and multiplication
On goes the calculation
Till the entire equation equals a deceitful division
Hence the offsprings
Spring less to stay on
Work less to drive more
Cash less to spend scores
Think less to act sore
Eat less to show off
Act fewer deeds to boast of
Performing the rites and chores of a refrigerator
In the chamber-wise labyrinths, of a maze, like incubator
Written by: Soul-o’man Drapman Fharweinme
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.