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Our silence is mocked
By the agony of our lost hopes
We are tortured in our trust
Left to boil in their promise-pot

Our days are drained of smiles
We are watered with pensive lies
As the future flutters on greedy trees
We glide on, in their selfish trip

Our candles are robbed of flames
Their manifest will soon lose its name
And they shall call your door…
So beware of their sliding floor!

Written by: Taofiqat Nasiru Ayomide