Laying the future
On a keg of kerosene
This is a trip I walk with fear
When the rain flogs painfully
Through the faded, patched umbrella…
Oh! The nay-tion streets are dirty
Where is the broom
To sweep out the sorrow of the nay-tion
I weep! They’ve came by, holding the umbrella
Where are the sweepers of the nay-tion
Why are they yet to dump our sorrows into bins?
When I embarked on this paining trip
I wept… No umbrella or broom! Couldn’t persevere
Now all I need is shoe to cover my plodding foot…
The nay-tion I was born into and love to be in
But, politicians take me granted… like wee
I weep, still using my potent pen to pee
When they came again to shower their words
It shall surely fall on deaf ears
Then, who will avert their sorrows and pains?
Written by: Ogunwole Abdulazeez Olanshile Distinctwriter
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.