Here i sit, on my creaky chair
eaten by termites as hungry as me
and watch my boot blackened with soot
and the tattered mat i use as roof
engolfed with cobwebs and dust
like my heart engolfed in thought
of future happiness and past hurt
and the gathered cloud ready to pour.
Here i sit, and think of my daily bread
of water for butter and salt for paste
cassava for tiffin and no sugar to taste
we are peasants of the wealthy country
where the poor have no peccadilloes
we are regarded and treated as trash
making man and family sulky
packed up and breeding in tarty homes
and our heir in wealth exotic mansions as flunkey
who retire home to tell tale of their tarty ladies
Here i sit, i see the face of my beloved
as beautiful as the bloom of the garden flowers
snatched from me by the wealthy
in a flashy car, she left my yard
yet i got no ego to fight back
no money to defend my right
I stood and watched defeated by poverty:
my beleaguered social status
framed by nature in this remote vicinity
where children know nothing of taffy
MONEY! you speak not for me
have i wronged you in any way?
why have you deserted me?
why have you deserted my family?
my head now a beehive of thought
of my dusty floor that forbids rug,
of our children as lions of the city
for the political war that promise us no future
We are the real men that live life in taverns
become a family man by sweep stake
hustle here and there for the family's sake
a journey to success, now a rigmarole.
i have seen it all happen
I have tried to work it all out with sweat
but here i sit, and realise
that hardwork no longer pays,
but smart work do.
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