The sand is dry.
Nothing grows on that soil.
Why tell the wind to stop?
Why even try to block the wind?
Oh! In vain you plant seeds preacher!
Nights are darker than you think.
Like ants they walk in rows
Their work is about to start.
Don’t bother, they will never stop.
Their trade is as old as man.
The old passed the gift to the young;
A waste of time and value!
How many times do you kill without knowing?
Poison to rats you are giving.
What can you say to the wife
Whose husband seeks your bosom?
His wife’ tears, you turn blind eyes to.
Unworthy seeds you produce.
To the street you give them.
Death they fear not, but embrace.
For death is better than life with you.
You, night street merchant;
They become ‘night ants’!
Written by: Marrzy King
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.