There is nothing here that you haven’t seen before:
The eyes of children garnished with hunger,
Firmer hands lounging later on their carcasses,
Middlemen shaking hands with vultures inside their rampart,
An army of slaves led by a blind few—
Your retina must be worn thin by now.
When the speech abides by the table and guns sing in the field,
Do we lay still on our turgid belly or hum the hymn of shame?
There is nothing your ears haven’t heard before:
Lies that buzz on free food,
The anarchy of worms,
An old woman singing fables.
The coast won’t clear by noon.
– F.Omosola
