Ajala Samuel Akindele
Boy On A Swift Fence
Swiftly, I rolled up and down
Like a boulevard pitch rotten
of a tree cankerworm.
My head mingle with straggling;
Hesitation to downpour of life,
Keen struggling me like a
bewilder heart agitation.
The fence is calling Right;
The fence is calling left;
The South turns West sight
The East turns North sight
The four cardinal point meet at
my beloved head.
When will I be free?
Why are her people dying?
When will live the will of fate?
Why was her nation straggling?
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